Familiarity
by persevera
Summary: Sequel to So Much More, just because I enjoyed writing the first story so much. Now that they've acknowledged they're a couple, Hermione and Draco have "so much more" to learn about each other.
1. bonnie Jean

Was it out of character for him? Hermione had no way of knowing, because he'd already surprised her so much in the last few days, and now Draco was spinning her around, exclaiming, "Awh, I'm so glad you stayed!"

He flung her down on the sofa and sat next to her, wearing a big smile. Hermione felt good about her choice to stay at the ski lodge with him to, in his words, "Give us a chance." She couldn't deny her attraction to him or the feeling that she was with someone who understood her. It was different than being with her friends, who sometimes gave her the impression that her bookishness and conscience were tolerated, just because she was useful to them.

Still, she couldn't match Draco's mood. Something he'd said earlier was tempering her joy and causing her brow to furrow.

Draco knew that pensive look on her face. He'd observed it from afar for years. "Is there something wrong?" he asked, still smiling.

She lifted her eyes to look into his and pouted. "Do you really not like my name?" she asked in a small, high voice.

His grin widened, as he moved closer to her. "For a pretty little girl, it's perfect. For a distinguished, older witch, like McGonagall, it's perfect." He touched the side of her face and leaned in. "But for the way you are now, luscious and tempting, it's not sexy enough."

Hermione rolled her eyes and smirked. "Well, I suppose my parents weren't thinking of me as a seductress when they named me. Perhaps you'd prefer Lolita or Cherie."

Draco grinned back at her. "Perish the thought," he said, with emphasis on the first letter. I'm happy with the Jean I fancy. In public I'll call you Hermione. But when we're alone, you'll be my *bonnie Jean." He pulled her into a tight hug and gave her a long, sweet kiss.

She couldn't quite stop thinking, _Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?_ but she liked the pleasant, handsome young man who was holding her, so didn't say it out loud.

"Do you want to introduce me to your family now?" he asked as he nuzzled her cheek.

"Mmm," she murmured, placing little kisses around his neck, "not yet. I have to alter their memory before I wake them or explain why I'm suddenly with you instead of Ron."

He snickered at her casual attitude about magically manipulating her mother and father, something he could never do to his powerful wizard and witch parents. "And which one of us has the high regard for Muggles?" he joked, while continuing the necking, that was beginning to feel preliminary. "What do you want then?" he asked hoarsely and hopefully.

_What am I doing? _Hermione asked herself. _Why do I respond to him so wantonly? _"Food," she answered quickly, rising from the couch while she still felt that she could. "I'm famished; aren't you?"

He chuckled again, as he stood beside her, wondering if she was going to turn him into a complete and happy fool. "I could eat," he answered, as they walked outside. "You go ahead to the dining room and get us a table and I'll meet you there. I need to go back to my room for a moment."

"Alright," she said, with one more small kiss to his heart-shaped face before Disapparating.

Still wearing a dopey grin, Draco Apparated to his room. He took a small, rectangular box from his luggage, ran a comb through his hair and brushed his teeth again, then left the room, whistling the Hogwarts anthem.

Separated from his overwhelming presence, Hermione tried to compose herself. Still, her eyes shone, like chocolate diamonds, as she took in the holiday atmosphere of the dining room.

"So many affectionate couples," she remarked under her breath, watching the people at several tables hold hands and exchange small gifts and kisses.

She saw Draco in the doorway and her breath caught as she unconsciously sat straighter in her chair. His broad white smile and white-blond hair made him a nearly blinding vision.

"I ordered specials for us," Hermione said as he took a seat next to her. "Why are you smiling like that?" she asked about the delighted and somewhat mischievous expression on his face.

"No reason, except that I've waited years to give you this," he said, taking her hand and placing the red velvet box, with a hastily-added bow, into it.

She blushed as she looked down on it then back up at him. "Years?"

He tilted his head slightly. "I've always had it with me on my annual tour of ski resorts. Open it," he requested.

Inside the box was a silver link bracelet with gemstones and small snake and lion charms. "Draco," she said in a surprised, breathy voice, "it's beautiful. It's too much."

"Not really," he assured her. "I found the bracelet in some of my mother's discarded jewelry. It already had the serpent and emerald for Slytherin. I took it to a goblin jeweler and had the ruby and lion for Gryffindor added, then your birthstone for the middle."

"I can't believe you know not only my birthday, but the birthstone."

The plates of food arrived but Draco seemed more interested in the young woman sitting with him than the blueberry pancakes.

"I'm going to have to explain to you the meaning of obsession," he said jovially as he placed the bracelet on her wrist then recited:

_"A__ maiden born when September leaves_  
_Are rustling in September's breeze,_  
_A sapphire on her brow should bind"_

"..._Twill cure diseases of the mind_," finished Hermione with a knowing smile, as she dug into her breakfast.

He grinned. "I prefer the alternative line. _No one more lovely will ye find._"

She dropped her fork on her plate and turned back to him. He leaned in for a small kiss, tasting the maple syrup on her lips.

"Draco, we're in public," she protested.

He looked around the room and saw all of the embracing couples. "It seems appropriate for this public. Look, there's the couple from last night," he said, indicating a table next to the windows, where the gangly man and previously mousy-looking woman sat very close together, feeding each other from their plates.

"Actually," Draco continued, "it reminds me of a more subdued Madam Puddifoot's. Were you ever there?"

"No," Hermione said, sipping her coffee, "but Harry went there once with Cho Chang."

"Did he?"

She grinned as she teased him between mouthfuls. "I though you were such a ladies' man. You weren't there on Valentine's Day in fifth year?"

"Of course I was...for hours."

"Then how did you not see Harry and Cho?"

Snickering, Draco took Hermione's hand. "You Muggle-born innocent. You need a pure-blood to teach you the fun of being a witch. You haven't had much of that, have you?"

"Hmph," she answered defensively, "If that means sitting across from someone making sheep's eyes, while confetti is rained down on me, no, I haven't."

He chuckled. "And why do you think any of us lads are willing to spend time inside that powder puff, having confetti rained down on us?"

Hermione shrugged.

"Because the magic in the place makes you forget anyone else you saw there," he explained, "so it's perfect for secret trysts. There are rooms in the back."

Hermione's expression went from open-mouthed astonishment to tight-lipped jealousy. "And you had these secret trysts?"

He smiled, moving closer to her, "You'd be surprised to know who wanted something clandestine with a bad boy."

"Who?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest.

"I'm not saying," he said in the seductive, lazy tone from the previous night, as he ran his lips along her hairline.

"One name."

"Un Uh."

"Please," she wheedled, releasing her arms and tracing one of his ears with a fingernail.

He groaned. "Alright, one name...Patil."

"Padma or Parvati?"

He just grinned in response.

"Oh, you're terrible," she said with a pout.

"That's my reputation," he answered, putting his arms around her waist and settling in for a long kiss.

"Draco, everyone will see," she admonished again.

"We're not doing anything the others aren't doing," he reasoned. "We're just doing it better."

"But..."

He stopped and looked at her. "But what?"

She looked down uncomfortably, "This is all so sudden."

"Sudden?" he repeated with an ironic guffaw, thinking of the years he'd hoped to be in this position with her—a position that apparently made her so uncomfortable.

Hermione bit her bottom lip. "Please, try to understand..."

He removed his arms from her and pulled away. "I think I do understand," he said, digging in his pocket. "You know Muggle money better than I do" he continued, pulling out a bill, "Is this enough for the food and a...tap?"

"Tip," Hermione corrected. "Yes, it's plenty."

"Good," he said shortly. "I'm going to my room for a while. Let me know if you and your parents still want to go to dinner. I'll see you later."

He rose from the table and Hermione watched in mute disbelief as he walked away.

"Oh, Draco," two young women squealed, "we've been looking for you." Hermione felt another twinge of jealousy.

"Hello, ladies," he responded politely, "I'm sorry. I must be going. If you'll excuse me." With a backward glance at Hermione, he left.

The women approached her. "Are you Jean?"

"What?" she asked with hostility.

"Are you Draco's friend Jean, the one he can't stop talking about, despite our best efforts?" the black-haired girl asked.

Hermione bit the inside of her mouth to keep from breaking into a big, triumphant smile. "Yes, I'm Jean," she answered.

"Well, we should be jealous," said the tall strawberry blonde, "but the guy shouldn't be denied something he wants as badly as you, so we'll concede graciously."

"Alright," Hermione said with finality. Did they expect a thank you and money?

The women ended the uncomfortable exchange by mumbling, "It was nice meeting you," then hurrying to a table on the other side of the room.

Hermione paid the bill and "tap" and ran up the steps of the lodge to the guest rooms above.

* * *

***_This is a recognition of Hermione's mentor Prof. McGonagall and her portrayor, Maggie Smith. She won an Oscar and BAFTA in 1970 for The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie. The theme song was Jean...Come into my arms, bonnie Jean. (Love that song)_**


	2. Ready for Ralph

The box elder bug seeking refuge in the warm hotel would have been so easy to zap with his wand, but Draco preferred watching it, as he lay with his hands behind his head, mulling over what had just happened downstairs with Hermione.

_All these years, _he said to himself, _I've waited for a chance with her and I finally get it. She likes me in spite of herself. But she's not comfortable with me. Part of her still sees me as the brat I was in school and a Death Eater._

He glanced at his arm where he'd received the sign of the Dark Lord just a little past his 16th birthday and, as the youngest recruit, a deadly assignment to kill Headmaster Dumbledore. The task had dominated his sixth year at Hogwarts, Voldemort's threat to kill his mother Narcissa weighing daily on his mind.

"May you slowly rot in Hell," he cursed Voldemort, not for the first time.

There was a knock at his door. "What?" he called out grumpily.

"It's Hermione. May I come in?"

Still staring at the black insect, he challenged her. "I have enchanted locks on the door. If you can break through them, you can come in."

It took her a few minutes but eventually, Hermione stood before him and he felt his anger melting. Those big brown eyes and delicate features, coupled with the strong, no-nonsense jawline, got him every time.

"I'm sorry, Draco," she said in a soft voice, "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

He snorted and returned his gaze to the elder bug, approaching its ceiling destination. "Malfoys don't have hurt feelings," he said in a monotone. His eyes slanted to her. "But I want you to answer a simple question. Have you and Weasley shagged?"

She quickly looked down, nervously twisting her wand in her hand. "That's a very personal question, isn't it?"

"It's a very simple one—yes or no," he answered shortly.

Hermione took in his long, lean frame, stretched over the length of the bed. "Yes, but..."

He sighed heavily. "So you've gone that far with him, but you're not even comfortable with me kissing you."

She looked so serious and torn. He wasn't as angry as he sounded. He really was rather hurt, though he'd never admit it.

"I need to explain," she said, sitting next to him on the bed.

He raised one knee. "Go ahead."

Again Hermione found his presence and scent disconcerting, but she took a deep breath and began. "With Ron, it was a natural progression. We'd known each other so long and been through so much together, it was something nice to share."

Draco felt jealousy knotting in him with her explanation, loosening slightly when she described the experience as simply "nice".

Her downcast eyes suggested timidity as she continued, "But contact with you is different. I feel as if I'm jumping from one cliff to another. The jump is thrilling and it's so good when I reach the other side."

He smiled at her analogy and touched her arm, and felt the shiver.

"Still, I know the more I jump, at some point I'm going to fall. I don't know what that will be like but it makes me...cautious, even more so than I usually am," she said with a small laugh.

He sat up next to her, leaning on his arms and enjoying the discomfiture he felt in the young woman whom he'd always thought was so collected, and enjoying the fact that he was the cause of it.

"Then you're not uncomfortable because of my past? You're not ashamed to be with me?"

"Is that what you thought?" Hermione asked, her eyes wide with surprise. "No, actually, you would have more reason to be uncomfortable with me for that." She shrugged. "At least my family doesn't know our history. Imagine what your parents would say if they saw us together. For all that your father's been giving interviews about their overcoming their prejudices..."

"You're right," he interrupted her. "It's sugar-coated rubbish."

They smiled at each other in understanding.

"I just need a little time to...adjust to you," Hermione said, feeling tingly from his closeness and the intensity of his gaze. "You stir me."

Her words delighted him. "Hmmm, so I need to ease you into familiarity with me," he said, smirking and lifting an eyebrow, "until you're...ready for Ralph."

With a nervous little laugh, Hermione asked, "Do I detect a double entendre?"

"You do," he answered matter-of-factly, leaning toward her for a mostly chaste kiss. "Well?"

"Nice," she said in a half-whisper.

He put his arms around her and drew her in for a deeper kiss, subtly licking her lips, then rubbing the back of her neck. "Too much?

"Still good," she said, slowly shuttering her eyes.

He fell back on the bed, pulling her on top of him.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, as his hands glided down her back to her rear.

His breath was labored as he asked, "Do I have to stop?"

"No," she answered, pressing her mouth on his.

With a little growl, he rolled so that he was hovering over her, testing the limits on the front of her body. She seemed to lock her muscles below her waist.

He snickered. "Well, there's no question of my boundary."

"Can you be satisfied with that for now?" Hermione asked, twisting to her side and raking her fingers in his soft, blond hair.

"I think so. I'm glad you've allowed me...access to your ass," he said, lightly tracing that part of her body with his fingertips. "I'm quite fond of it."

"You are?" she asked, her cheeks pinking.

He nodded with a grin. "Did you know it tenses when you're angry or nervous, like now," he said, feeling a gentle firming. "And wriggles a little when you're happy or excited, like now," he added, in response to the sudden, faint tremor under his fingers.

"Draco," she chided.

His grin widened at her fluster. "I can tell you about the way your buds harden noticeably, even under your school robe, when you walk in a drafty room...and how good I've become at controlling drafts in the Great Hall."

"You're incorrigible."

"I can tell you other things," he relented. "There's your tiny, secret smile, right at the corners," he said using one finger on her mouth, "when grades are passed out and you see you've gotten another O. It's like you're biting the inside of your mouth to keep from breaking out in a big, boastful smile."

Hermione demonstrated the big smile for him. Draco's expression became more serious. "We've always been together; you just didn't know it."

She rose up on her elbow. "Do you want to hear my observations of you?"

"Are they all horrible?" he asked, moving his hand down her body and rocking it back and forth in the curve of her side.

"No. At the Yule Ball I couldn't help noticing what an elegant dancer you were."

"Thank you," he responded, hoping there was more.

She smirked. "Well, let's face it. In fifth year you were a total arse, with Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad and all."

He rolled his eyes and sighed. "Yes, not a shining moment for me."

"After that though," Hermione continued, "you were so intense. I couldn't help looking at you, even with everything that was going on with me. Your emotions were right on the surface. That's nearly irresistible. No wonder you pulled so many girls that year."

He lowered his eyes. "Well, I had to do something to release that tension or I would have gone mad. I almost did anyway."

"Did you take girls to the Room of Requirement?"

He nodded. "Not where I was working on the Vanishing Cabinet. I created a romantic little space, but I only used it a few times." He looked back up at her. "I almost invited you there once. Would you have come with me?"

With a firm expression, she shook her head no.

Draco grinned at her honesty. "Would you come now?"

"Would you still respect my boundaries?"

"Always," he said. "And I'll catch you when you're ready to jump another cliff."

Even a very experienced woman would find such a statement hard to resist, and Hermione was far from very experienced. She moved closer to him, succumbing to her desire for his kiss.

Her bracelet jangled with her movements and, unnoticed by either of the young people, the sapphire and ruby began glowing. From deep in Hermione's psyche, her ancestor witches signaled their approval of Draco. They guided her in nibbling his neck and whispering his name and touching him, until he was groaning in response and squeezing her tighter. They told her when to stop.

"I should go back to my parents," she said breathily.

He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, clearing his head. "Right," he said with a husky voice, lifting himself from her and lying by her side, "you need to go and alter their memories, before I alter your clothes."

Giggling, she rose from the bed. "I'll see you in a few hours." She leaned over him for a goodbye kiss.

_I won't say I love her. It's too soon, _Draco said to himself. _Of course, I've been working up to it for years now and that was before I knew how lovely she was to hold, and just be with. But I won't say it. _

_"_I..." he said hesitantly, cradling her face in his hands, as he sat up in bed, "I'm addicted to you."

She smiled down at him.

"I can't get enough of you," he said, staring into her eyes, "and I want so much more."

She bit her lip. "I better go while I still can."

"...and while I'll still let you," he finished with a grin.

She Disapparated from the room. Draco lay back, much happier than he had been in the same position before Hermione's visit. He saw that the insect had reached the ceiling and was now scurrying over its surface. "Well done, you," he congratulated the creature, feeling a sense of good will to all, as he closed his eyes.

In her room Hermione also lay down for a nap. Outside forces seemed to be controlling hers and Draco's thoughts, as the emerald added its glow to the other gems and they caught fire from each other.

_Beautiful and brilliant, our boy, _Draco heard in his head. _She is someone we would have chosen centuries ago, before that upstart Salazar and his purity nonsense. She is worthy and will soon be ready._

In their separate rooms, Draco and Hermione shared a dream. They held and explored each other, undressed and loving, then voracious, then playful and finally, spent. They awoke at the same time.

"Bonnie Jean," Draco said as he stretched and eagerly leapt from the bed._  
_

Hermione's mother witches still spoke to her. _You're ready, dear._ Her skin was flush and her eyes sparkled. Her smile was lascivious_. You're ready for...  
_

She rose lazily and sighed, "...ready for Ralph."_  
_


	3. Very Unlike Her

"Accio blue-spangled dress. No, not right. Accio white, long-sleeved dress."

In preparing for dinner with her parents and Draco, Hermione realized that she didn't have an appropriate outfit, so she was summoning some of her favorite dresses from her wardrobe back home. She wanted something to enhance her new bracelet. She looked over her selections with disappointment, then at the bracelet.

Was it her imagination, or were the stones pulsing? _The emerald green, drop-shoulder, _she heard in her head, imagining the knee-length dress that rested just off the top of her shoulders and had a side slit. Of course, it was perfect.

"Accio green, drop-shoulder," she commanded. It appeared instantly. It was perfect. Draco would love the color and it was obvious it would fit her like a glove. Funny, though, she couldn't remember when she had gotten it.

She sent the rejected frocks back to her closet at home, then glided to the bathroom for a long, hot, perfumey bubble bath, temporarily removing the bracelet.

She was still excited about the evening but, luxuriating in the silky suds, she seemed to think more clearly. _That dream, _she said to herself. _It was amazing. Would it really be like that with him? It was so much more than just...nice. But surely I'm not ready yet. I really don't know very much about him and what I know is mostly negative. Still, he's so...But I don't want to be controlled by my hormones. I need more reasons. I hope I find them, _she continued, getting out of the tub and drying herself.

She dressed with care (The dress really was ideal) and put the bracelet back on her wrist. _I'll have to ask Draco if he did something to the stones. They seem impossibly bright. _She looked at herself in the mirror and gasped. Had her skin ever been so luminous, her hair so shiny? The dress hugged and draped to reveal and conceal so that she appeared flawless. She smiled at her reflection and saw a seductress. _My bonnie Jean, _she heard in her head. "Yes, Ralph," she answered out loud.

Her heartbeat quickened at the knock on the door. "I'll get it," she called to her parents. "Draco?"

"You were expecting someone else?" he asked from the outside. With a very un-Granger-like titter, she opened the door and was immediately swept up in his arms.

"Blimey, I've never seen anything so beautiful," he said, bestowing random kisses on her.

"Shhh, they're mobile," Hermione whispered.

He pulled away and lightly touched her exposed shoulders. His eyes were grey magnets and she felt as though she were tiny metal filings that he could collect at will. "Will you come back to my room after dinner? I want to be alone with you again," he said huskily, the dream preying on his mind.

"Yes," she breathed without hesitation. His body magnet drew her in for a tight embrace and long kiss.

"Ahem," said her father, stepping into the great room from his bedroom, her mother at his side.

"Oh," Hermione said, hurrying to them.

_So much for first impressions, dog, _Draco said to himself, as he straightened his tie and ran a hand over his hair.

"This is Draco," Hermione said, taking his arm to pull him toward her parents.

"Mr. and Mrs. Granger, it's a pleasure to meet you," he said politely, holding out his hand to shake first hers, then his.

Mrs. Granger fixed a cold eye on him. "Hello, Draco, you seem to know my daughter well, for her having never mentioned you."

Draco gave her a disarming smile, then dropped his head for a moment. "I do apologize that you saw that. I guess you could say that I've admired Hermione from a distance—her in the Gryffindor Tower and I in the Slytherin Dungeons.

"So you were in Slytherin?" her father asked, just as challengingly. "She has told us a little about the Houses and the tensions between them."

Draco chuckled. "Yes, we did have fierce competitions for the House Cup and quidditch matches, academic standing..."

"...and support for Voldemort," Mr. Granger added with crossed arms.

"Dad!" Hermione interjected.

Two couples shared expressions—Draco's and Hermione's was near shock; her parents' was disdain.

Draco pretended not to notice the discord as he said, "Well, shall we go then? There's a charming restaurant a few miles from the village with excellent food. Off the beaten path, but well worth any effort."

"Yes, let's," said Mr. Granger, still eyeing the younger man with hostility. "We'll just get our coats."

They went back to the bedroom and Draco moved to help Hermione with her wrap. "It's a shame to cover these lovely shoulders," he said placing a light kiss on the top of one, as his hands ran the length of her arms, giving them both the pleasure of velvet on skin.

"Control yourself, Draco. Their catching you mauling me is part of the reason for their instant dislike."

He harrumphed. "Dislike, you call it. They hate me. Maybe we should alter their memories again so they won't see that or know anything about Voldemort."

When Hermione had Obliviated her parents, it was to protect them from Lord Voldemort and his minions. When she had put them to sleep while speaking to Draco that morning, she'd justified it to herself that she was preventing them from being made uncomfortable by an awkward scene. She'd been unwilling, though, to manipulate their minds any further, as she'd told him she would do. They were Mum and Dad. She loved and respected them. It was wrong to use her powers over them, simply to make things easier for herself. So she'd told them the truth...mostly.

* * *

_"I can't believe we fell asleep," said her mother anxiously, as she scurried around the room to freshen up for her trip to the Burrow. "The Weasleys must think we're terrible. Why did you let us sleep so long, Hermione?"_

_"It's alright, Mother," Hermione said, putting her hands on the older woman's arms to halt her frantic activity. "We're not going to the Burrow. I sent Ron's owl back, politely declining."_

_"What? What happened? I thought they were expecting us."_

_"What's going on?" asked Mr. Granger, coming out of the bathroom._

_Hermione took a deep breath and let it out. "Draco, the boy from school that I told you I met for dinner last night—he wants to take us out tonight."_

_Her parents looked at her in confusion. "But what about Ronald?" asked Mrs. Granger. "I thought the two of you..."_

_"Yes," conceded Hermione, "I thought we were going to reconcile, but for how long this time? We just disagree so much. I seem to be more compatible with Draco and...I like him quite a bit," she finished with a small, blushing smile._

_"This is very unlike you, Hermione," her mother remonstrated, shaking her highlighted brown head in annoyance._

_The young woman lowered her eyes. "I know, Mum," she said, twisting her hands in embarrassment, "but...I've never felt like this," she finished breathily, the glow in her face confirming her statement._

_Her father gave a resigned sigh. "Alright, we'll meet this new young man, then. Draco, eh? Sounds familiar. What's his last name?"_

_"Malfoy."_

_"Hmm," he said, stroking his chin, "When will he be here?"_

_Hermione went to her father and wrapped her arms around his trim waist, grateful that he seemed to understand. "In a couple of hours. Mother..." She held out her hand hopefully. Her mother grasped it, responding, "Alright, dear, we'll give it a try."_

_She wore a big smile as she ran out of the room, exclaiming, "Thank you. Now I have to decide what to wear!"_

* * *

Remembering that moment with her family, Hermione turned and stared, horrified, at Draco's suggestion that he alter her parents' memories. Her antecedents were equally miffed, and the red and blue gems on her charm bracelet returned to a less brilliant shine.

"Ready," said her father, coming out of the bedroom, slipping on his gloves. Mrs. Granger followed, belting her stylish, calf-length faux fur.

Draco smiled. "Good. There's a storm brewing, so the safest way for us to travel, if you don't mind, will be side-Apparation. Mrs. Granger, if you'll take my arm and Hermione, you help your father. Now," he said, holding Hermione's hand, "this might feel a little strange if you've never done it before, but here we go."


	4. Bad Faith

"So, do you want to do it, or shall I?" Draco asked Hermione when they arrived at the restaurant with her parents. The elders were away from them at the moment, checking their coats and recovering from their first experience with Apparation.

Hermione's tension from their introduction to Draco hadn't eased yet and her mind was a little distracted. She asked for clarification, "Do what?"

He helped her off with her coat then whispered in her ear, pressing himself against her back, as he reminded her, "Alter your mother and father's memory of when they first saw me and I was clutching your bum, not to mention any thought they ever had of He Who Must Be Lame."

She sighed. It was such a heady feeling, leaning back in his arms and feeling his breath on her face. It felt as though she were back in the dream. It was very unlike herself, and she almost forgot to be affronted at his suggestion. "We're not doing that to them. I told them I chose you over Ron. They were willing to give you a chance too."

"You what?" He turned her around to face him. "Well, thank you very much for not telling me. They were probably expecting someone safe and boring, like Weasley, and instead, there I am, definitely not safe, and unable to keep my hands off of you."

Hermione frowned. He was right that she had effectively set him up for failure. She and her guiding witch ancestors relented. She dropped her eyelids just enough that her thick lashes screened the maple color of her irises. "I'm sorry. I should have told you. But all I wanted when I saw you was to kiss you," she said, lifting her head back up and tilting it slightly on the last words, as if making the offer again.

Omission of critical information, unilateral decision on something that affected them both—it didn't matter. Looking down at her, Draco knew in that moment that he'd forgive her anything. The dimly-lit anteroom suddenly seemed much too full, as he only wanted to be with her. "Well, I suppose I can't blame you for that, can I?" he said, placing her coat over his arm. "But since their introduction to me was disastrous, I'll have to work harder on their second impression." He dropped his chin so his eyes were nearly level with hers. "That means you'll get nothing more from me while we're here, than a lingering handshake."

"And later?" she teased, arching an eyebrow and moistening her lips.

The intensity of the couple's gaze at each other matched the brilliance of the emerald, sapphire and ruby on Hermione's charm bracelet Draco had given her. Their ancestors, restored to harmony and manifesting themselves through the gems, were even more committed to a happy union for them.

"That's a very nice dress, Hermione," her mother said, as she and Mr. Granger rejoined them. "Where did you get it?"

"Oh," Hermione answered, "thank you. I got it...umm...I don't remember, but it is pretty, isn't it?"

"Yess," Mrs. Granger responded with her eyes narrowing. "And what about that bracelet?"

"It's a gift from Draco," Hermione said as they walked to a table. "Isn't it lovely?"

Mr. Granger took Hermione's hand and lifted the bracelet for close inspection. "It seems a bit excessive for such a new acquaintance. It isn't magical, is it?" he asked, looking at Draco with suspicion. He pulled out the chair for his wife and continued. "Those stones seem abnormally bright. I come from a family of jewelers."

Draco held the chair for Hermione and laughed nervously. "Well, it is goblin-made, but that only means that it will never tarnish. I assure you that it isn't enchanted in any way. I wanted to win over your daughter on my own merits. I believe everything just shines more around her," he said, looking across the table and smiling at her.

She returned a radiant expression, made even more lovely by the candlelight from the small votive in the center of the table.

The look the elder Grangers shared was, by contrast, worried, as if to say, _This is worse than we thought._

"Malfoy? Is that French origin?" asked Mrs. Granger.

"Yes, it is," Draco answered, turning his smile in her direction.

"Bad faith," she said shortly, demonstrating where Hermione had gotten her strong jaw.

Draco's smile dropped and Hermione glanced at her mother, her eyebrows knitting in tension.

"That's a very literal translation," he said. "We've always interpreted it to mean slow to trust, or independent."

"And I would say that's a very forgiving translation," said Mr. Granger, his voice clipped, yet low in the public setting. "Malfoy Manor," he growled, turning to Hermione and lifting the arm that Bellatrix had mutilated with the word Mudblood. "Did you think we'd forget?"

She looked at her father, stunned, with gaping mouth and eyes, unable to say a word.

He turned back to Draco. "And where were you while my daughter was screaming in agony at the hands of your crazed aunt? I know you were there, because she's told us about your acting as though you couldn't identify Harry Potter."

"I..." Draco began, then hesitated. "I was sent to lock Potter and Weasley in the cellar, while my aunt..." He lowered his head. "interrogated," he said through clenched teeth, "Hermione."

Bristling with ire, Mr. Granger rose from his chair. "Yes, well, I think we have the measure of you. Let's go," he commanded his wife and daughter. "We'll take a cab. It might be a bit slick, but certainly no more dangerous than present company. Hermione," he coaxed as she remained seated.

She stared at the downcast and humiliated young man across from her. "I'll be there soon, Dad."

"You're coming n..."

She shot him a defiant look, her lips pressed tight in determination. Mrs. Granger laid a silencing hand on his arm and led him out of the restaurant.

Hermione moved to the seat vacated by her mother and scooted closer. "Draco," she said softly, placing her hand over one of his fists, pressed tight on the table.

"How can you even look at me, Hermione? Had you somehow forgotten about that?"

"No," she said, loosening his fist and cradling his hand in her lap, "but you asked me to put aside our differences, so I did—all of them. Had you forgotten about it?"

"Hmph, I think of it every day." He raised his head and stared at the flickering candle. "I made her pay, you know, in my own way."

"How?" she asked, looking down at his hand, as her fingertips lightly moved over it and his lower arm.

"I hexed her to make her repulsive to Voldemort."

"Oh?"

He sighed and nodded. "Physical pain meant nothing to her; she liked it. But rejection from her Dark Lord and Master, who she was willing to do literally anything for and she had no idea why he didn't want her...that made her last days a living Hell."

Hermione gave a small laugh. "My hero," she said, resting her forehead on his upper arm, as her hand continued its caressing.

He turned to her and kissed the top of her head. "I'll take you back to your cabin," he said, standing up and pulling back her chair.

"What? I thought you wanted me to come to your room," she protested, as they exited the restaurant and Disapparated.

The wind screamed around them, and they raised their voices to be heard over it. "Not now," he said.

"Why? What's changed?"

Draco looked down at her confusion and teeth chattering—the wind, snow and her hair swirling around her, then transported them again, this time to the lodge so he could explain. He led her to the fireplace.

She sat in the middle of the couch and frowned when he chose one of the chairs, rather than sitting next to her. "I don't understand. You said you wanted us to be alone."

He huffed and sat forward, the tension in his shoulders evident under the expensive fabric of his perfectly-tailored suit. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but there's nothing like being reminded that you'd allowed your...prospective lover...to be tortured...to kill the mood."

She'd heard that self-disgust in him before and she'd seen the damage similar feelings had done to Ron. Reassurance didn't seem to counter it, so she thought she'd try another tactic.

She stood before him and took his hands. "I'm not your prospective lover, Draco; I'm your imminent lover," she said, pulling him to sit with her on the sofa. She nuzzled his neck and rubbed her leg on his. "I dreamed about you this afternoon," she added, slipping her hand under his jacket to run over his back. "I dreamed about us."

"You did?" he asked, suddenly alert.

She smiled seductively in response.

"So did I," he said in a flat tone.

She ceased her petting. While another couple might have taken the occurrence as a romantic coincidence or fate, this smart, magical duo was more suspicious.

"What was it like?" Hermione asked.

"Incredible."

"No, I don't mean that," she said, shaking her head, not quite able to hide her blush and secret smile. "Where were we?"

"In my room here," Draco answered.

She nodded. "And in the first part of the dream, we were lying on the bed, talking..."

"Right," he continued, "and I pointed out to you..."

"...the bug on the ceiling," she concluded.

They stared at each other.

"Someone or something is manipulating us." Her growing concern and anger showed in her narrowing eyes and, as she began pacing, Draco couldn't help noticing, in the tension in her buttocks.

"_Is_ this bracelet enchanted?" she asked, holding out her arm in front of him.

"I told you and your father it wasn't," he said, now on the defensive. He stood next to her. "I care about you. I want you to feel the same and I want it to be genuine. I'm not going to use magic to influence you."

They both tried to keep their voices low, so as not to attract attention from the other people milling in the lobby, or huddled in groups, watching the storm through the large front windows.

"Well, if you didn't do it, who did?"

The bracelet's stones suddenly lost their extraordinary sparkle, as their meddling ancestors retreated to avoid the pair's deduction and detection, save for a lone, glimmering facet in the emerald.

"I have no idea," answered Draco with a new coldness in his voice, "but I suppose it explains your behavior."

She frowned. "What do you mean, my behavior?"

"Suddenly you're so aggressive, rubbing yourself against me, touching me inappropriately. I thought you were different from the other girls."

"Are you serious?" she asked. "This morning you were pouting because I didn't want you to kiss me in public."

_What am I saying? _Draco wondered. _I liked it when she was touching me, didn't I?_ He saw the hurt in her quivering lips.

"I'm sorry if I'm not quite innocent enough for you," she said, crossing her arms in hostility, "but we've already established I'm not a virgin. That field's already been plowed, remember?" she said, purposely coarse.

"Plowed?" Draco responded with a sneer. "I'll bet Weasley didn't know what to do with his spade."

Hermione's breathing increased and her chest heaved with anger. "You'd be surprised. And stop making jokes about him. You've done it all day and I've had enough of it."

He stood so he looked down on her. "I do apologize," he said with acid in his voice. "I didn't realize you'd still be so sensitive about him."

"I told you I love him. That didn't just stop when I sent the owl away."

He glared at her, the small voice in his head gaining dominance over the twisting in his heart caused by her words. "If you feel that way, why did you send the bloody bird away? Why are you here?"

Her eyes clouded over. The angry tension in her face settled into disappointment and resignation. "To be honest," she said, "right now I have no idea why I'm here." She removed the bracelet to hand to him.

"What do I want with that? Keep it. You can sell it for a few quid. Muggles," he said with scorn, "they cheapen everything, even their currency."

"And we all know the Malfoy reverence for it," she retorted, tossing the bracelet on the sofa. She picked up her coat and, just before stalking out, threw out with the last drop of her animus, "Bad faith, indeed."

Much like the first day there, Draco watched her leave then dropped to the sofa. _What was that? Where had that...puritanical rejection of her come from? _The Malfoys hadn't been so judgmental about sex in centuries. Of course, there were some real characters in the family tree in that regard.

One baron, in particular, had used his magic to preserve the virtue of his chosen maiden, by making her repulsive to all the men in his realm.

Draco snorted, as he realized the similarity between that and his spell on Bellatrix. _Like_ _great-great-great-great...grandfather, like..._

He picked up the gleaming silver bracelet, the symbol of so many hopes that he'd just dashed, with the help of the Malfoy family curse of self-doubt and loathing. _Bad faith, indeed. _

.


	5. I've Missed You

The wrought-iron gates couldn't bar the young witch admittance. She was too powerful, especially with the added magical energy of determined predecessors. The air around her seemed to crackle with it, evidenced by the return of her carefully-tamed chestnut hair to its naturally bushy state.

"There, you see? I've come as you wanted. There's no one here. Alright, alright," she said, exasperatedly, walking alone up the curving driveway to the large stone mansion, "I'll knock."

She rapped on the door, eschewing the grotesque figure of the antique, brass knocker. "I've tried," she said, "what more can I..."

Suddenly the door opened and the tall young man on the threshold first stared, then smiled at her. She swallowed hard, finding, as she had before, that he flustered her.

"Hermione," he said in a delighted tone.

An equally tall and blond and older man stepped behind him. He sneered at the girl and said with a clipped, imperious voice, "What are you doing here, you filth—"

"Now, now, Father," said Draco, laying a hand on Lucius's shoulder, "remember your public image."

"The public doesn't come to my house and invade my privacy," Lucius said, taking a long draught from his ever-present wine glass.

Hermione stood in front of them, her chin set in defiance. Before she could respond, Draco said, "It's all right, Father. I'll remove her." He raised his arm to indicate that she should head back in the direction from which she'd come and followed behind her, only managing a few steps beyond the sound of the door slamming, before he closed the distance between them, wrapped an arm around her and said throatily, "I've missed you."

She leaned back against him. It was such a heady feeling, being held by him. He was lanky but still had wonderful, strong arms. He stirred her. She pulled away with effort and turned to face him. "I've come to tell you to stop watching me."

"Watching you," he said with a grin, barely restraining himself from grabbing her again, "You make me sound like a stalker."

"What would you call it?" she challenged him, crossing her arms. While it was ostensibly a posture to appear in command, it served the dual purpose of helping to restrain her from physical contact, as well.

They hadn't spoken in weeks, not since their argument in the ski lodge over the Christmas holiday. She'd tried to forget their time together that week, but found it impossible.

He shrugged and grinned. "I've missed you. I've just popped into your new school a few times to see how you are, who you like and don't like. Call it stalking with the best of intentions." She bit the inside of her mouth to keep from smiling with him, but she didn't fool him.

He eyed her intently. "If that's all you wanted, there were any number of ways to tell me." He moved closer. "Why are you here?"

She looked up into his face then slammed her hands on either side of her head. "Because they won't leave me alone," she said in the same tense, raised voice. "I used to have a suggestion or little nudge from them, but now, it's incessant!"

"I knew you'd work it out," he said. "So you know who they are."

Her head rolled in frustration. "I can tell you their names, when they were born, who they loved. I hear it constantly," she said, lowering herself to an iron bench along the pathway and dropping her head back with her eyes closed.

Draco stared at the long line of her throat and her body in repose. He liked it that she was instinctively comfortable enough with him to relax, even while she attempted to keep their contact formal and detached.

"They're not malicious, Hermione," he said, sitting next to her, itching to touch her again. "They're just trying to persuade you. What do they say?"

She sighed, still in the same position. "They say you and I should be together."

He grinned widely and lightly stroked her hand. "I agree. What about you?"

Her hand twitched at his touch but she didn't move it away. "No," she hesitated, "that is...I don't know."

He leaned back with her. "That's why they keep talking to you. There's only one thing to make them stop."

"What?" she asked, snapping her eyes open and sitting up, looking back at the smirking Draco.

He opened his own eyes and rose up also, so that they were very close to each other. "Decisiveness," he answered. "When you know what you want, agree or disagree with them, they won't bother you."

"How do you know so much about it?" she asked, studying his face as he spoke.

He ran a tentative hand over her arm. "I was briefly visited by my ancestors," he said. "I think they were motivated by yours."

"Briefly?"

The hand on her arm became strong, more decisive. "No one had to convince me how I felt about you. They were just giving me encouragement."

She hadn't moved her arm, but Draco could see resentment in the straight line of her mouth. "Were they responsible for your strange and rude comments in the lodge?"

His hands moved to her neck. She kept hers primly in her lap. "That was a rogue baron," Draco explained sheepishly, "not even a close relative. He was obsessed with marrying a complete innocent. He chose his bride when she was nine and locked her in a tower to make sure she'd be pure when she was of age. Just to be safe, the year before he planned to marry her, he cast a charm over her to repel all the men in his realm, other than her future husband. "

"What a horrible man," exclaimed an incensed Hermione. "What happened to her?"

He grinned and scooted even closer. "She was impregnated by his younger brother."

She snickered. "How?"

He hitched a shoulder. "Careless magic. His incantation was for her to be disgusting to all but her future husband, who turned out to be his brother."

Hermione threw back her head and laughed. Draco was naturally enchanted. "What are they telling you now?" he asked in a husky voice.

They were so close. Her chest lifted with her intake of breath. "They're saying I should let you kiss me."

"Smart witches," he said, as he connected his mouth to hers.

Lucius, refilling his wine glass from the bar under the front window, saw his son and the Mudblood. He glowered but drank more before taking action.

_Admit it; you've missed this, _said the voices in Hermione's head.

_But I really don't know him, _she responded silently, _and most of what I know isn't good._

_Then learn more, _the voices advised_.  
_

"Draco," she said, her voice muffled by his wandering lips._  
_

"Yes?"

"Tell me something nice about you."

"What?"

"I don't know many instances of your being nice or kind," she explained. "Give me an example."

She continued the light kissing while he momentarily panicked. There really weren't instances of his being kind to others, except...

"Dobby's favorite food was rice pudding," he said haltingly.

"Hmmm?"

He nodded and continued. "When I was little and we had rice pudding for dinner, I would pretend not to like it. After my mother and father had left the table for me to sit alone and choke it down, I'd share it with Dobby." In a quiet tone he added, "He was my first friend."

"Oh, Draco," she said, laying a hand on the side of his face.

He dropped his eyes. "As I grew older and strove to be more like my father, I stopped sharing with Dobby or thinking of him as a friend. I never hurt him," he assured her, seeing the beginning of anger in her expression, "but I treated him as a servant. I ignored him."

He looked to the side then lowered his head. "He's dead, isn't he?"

She nodded; he took a sad breath.

"Would you want me to take you some time to where he's buried?"

His grey eyes were liquid but contained. No tear would stain his sculpted face. "Yes," he said, "I'd like that." He held her closer. "You're kind enough for both of us."

Hermione allowed herself to find pleasure in his arms. _You're right. I have missed this, missed him, _she admitted to the ladies in her mind.

"I can show you something nice about me," he said, standing and pulling her up too. "Come with me."

They walked hand-in-hand across the grounds, followed by a pair of peacocks from the famous Malfoy flock. It was warm for February, the sun unusually bright in the late afternoon. Draco realized it was the perfect light to reveal his secret.

He led her to the ramshackle shed at the back of the property. Inside its dusty, spider-web filled interior, he ordered, "Artis Revelio."

Instead of the dilapidated building, she now found herself in a spacious art studio, filled with paintings and sketches of herself. "What..." she said, walking into the midst of the Hermione shrine, staring at one exquisite image after another.

"I couldn't get you out of my mind, but the mental pictures weren't enough," Draco said. "I've always dabbled with art, but I needed inspiration to really create something."

"It's beautiful," she whispered, overwhelmed, "and very flattering, but..."

He smiled sheepishly. "I know you don't feel the same way about me...yet. I have years of caring on you." He walked up to one of the large paintings and touched it lovingly. "I just wanted you to know. You're the nicest thing about me."

Silently, she went to him and put her arms around him.

"I want you to go to Madam Puddifoot's with me for Valentine's Day," he said.

"Madam Puddifoot's?"

He nodded and smiled. "It's the perfect place for people we know to see us together. They'll be shocked at first, then accept it, as they see how mad I am for you, and that you shine when you're with me." She blushed. "And then they'll forget it," he concluded.

"Are you sure there's no way for people to have a memory or record of whom they see there?"

"Positive."

Her eyebrows drew together with a new puzzle. "What about cameras?"

"No."

"Writing the names?"

"They disappear when you walk out."

"Then maybe..."

"People have looked for an exception for years, my sweet. Don't tax your brilliant mind with it. It's simple and foolproof magic, perfected over the years, and not worthy of your time. Just appreciate its benefit to us."

Something he said...a glimmer of an idea sparked in the brilliant mind. "I should go home now," she said.

He reluctantly followed her out, careful to mask the shed again.

"So I'll see you next week for Valentine's Day," Hermione said, as they neared the gate.

Draco shook his head. "Tomorrow," he clarified. "I'll walk you to your school."

"No, Draco, I look terrible in the morning. The ancestors harass me all night and I can't get any rest."

"My cheer section," he said with a snicker. He kissed her forehead. "Let her sleep tonight, ladies. You'll see me in the morning."

"Draco," howled Lucius from the house, having drunk more courage and rage.

"Ignore him," said Draco, clasping Hermione again for a last, long kiss. "I'm much happier now that I do." He had her pinned against the gate.

"But it really is time for me to go." She waved her wand behind her and the great fence disappeared. She took a couple of steps backward, then restored the barrier between them. They grinned at each other and touched fingertips through the iron filigree.

"Draco," came another cry from the perturbed Malfoy patriarch.

"Coming, Father," Draco snarled over his shoulder. He winked at his source of inspiration and niceness and turned toward his house.

Hermione watched him approach his father with confidence and...decisiveness. "You're really going to let me sleep tonight?" she asked her inner quartet.

_Of course, dear,_ said Hester, the only magical person on her mother's side. She had sailed to the American colonies with her husband in the 1600s.

_We only want what's best for you,_ added Jean Granger, the last witch in the family, before the birth of her great-great-granddaughter.

In the house, Draco faced his parents with arms crossed in determination. "I love her; live with it!"

"And you all think he's best for me?" asked Hermione, walking away from the gate and down the curving driveway to reach the point where she could Disapparate.

Clothilde, the first conjurer on either side of the family and thrice-married, answered, _At this point in your life, yes, he is._

Hermione grinned. "Maybe you can give me a little dream about him tonight," she suggested to the passionate, Irish druidess, Finola. "Right now, I want to talk to all of you about a new project."

She returned to the home of her Muggle parents with the spirits of her ancestors in tow, the five of them chattering like girlfriends.


	6. Muggle Magic

_**Bonus chapter: I needed a bridge between the last one and the one I'll post Valentine's Day. Please let me know if you like or hate it  
**_

Narcissa couldn't get his words out of her head. "I love her; live with it." He'd never sounded so defiant or so sure of himself. The grey eyes he'd inherited from her had been like hematite, sparkling in the sun, the brightest thing in the dark and coldly austere foyer, where she and his father had confronted him.

Lucius had blustered and threatened to disown, then returned to his claret. Draco had snorted, knowing that she had assumed control of the family's business interests and personal finances, when Lucius had been briefly arrested after the fall of Voldemort.

It was she who had launched the campaign to redefine her family as repentant purists, now willing to embrace wizards and witches of any blood status. Her goal was to preserve her son's legacy. She had such high hopes for him. He was smart and handsome, commanding and enterprising.

She'd begun to think of women he might marry, but the celebrated Mu...gle-born brains behind Harry Potter's success against the Dark Lord hadn't occurred to her, though she obviously had to Draco. _I love her; live with it._

* * *

Hermione had shocked her parents by Apparating directly into their presence. She'd always respected their wishes to refrain from using magic in their home. But she'd stood before them and announced, "I'm a witch; I need my magic, and I want Draco Malfoy. I hope you can accept that because my mind is firmly set."

Thomas Granger had had a moment of déjà vu, remembering his great-grandmother standing before the family, surprisingly strong, announcing that she was going away by herself. "My mind is firmly set," she'd said.

Nine year-old Tommy had cried. He loved his Nanny Jean, who talked to him as no one else did—about alchemy, temporal flexibility, the power of individual will and concentration. She'd sat him next to her and explained, "I don't like being old in the Muggle world. I'm a witch; I need my magic, but you'll always be my favorite Muggle, Tommy G."

He never saw her again.

Thomas thought of her as he listened to her namesake, with the same quirky mouth and understanding of metaphysical concepts, explain that the wizarding community was inherently more dangerous and actions more extreme than in Muggle life. It was something Hogwarts and her time with Harry and Ron had prepared her for, and she was ready for it...and him.

"You're my favorite Muggles in the world," Hermione said, signifying the shifting of power that usually occurred much later between parent and child. "I want you to give him another chance."

He sighed. Nanny Jean would be very proud of her.

* * *

Thomas and Narcissa had absolutely no connection, until the day after their children's declarations, when they both decided to follow them.

So the next morning, after Draco thought he had sneaked out, she did an Accio charm to take her to the same location. She stood behind a tree while he went to the front door and knocked. She saw the young woman answer and watched their amorous greeting. Hermione pulled him into the house. Narcissa waited impatiently.

"Good morning, Dr. Granger," Draco said, holding out his hand. "I appreciate your agreeing to my seeing Hermione again." (The word agreeing was strategic, because allowing wasn't a consideration, since Hermione had made it clear to her parents that she would see Draco, whether they agreed or not, and they knew they couldn't do a damn thing about it.)

Thomas shook the proffered hand. "Well, I've been reminded again that my daughter is very special." Draco turned to her, standing beside him, and smiled. "You understand that our only concern is her protection."

"Of course," Draco said. "That's my concern as well, along with her happiness and fulfillment."

"All of which I can manage myself," she said, kissing her father on the cheek and pushing Draco toward the door. "'Bye, Dad. I love you."

Thomas stood in the middle of the sunny and tidy living room and sighed.

"Where was your mother?" Narcissa heard Draco ask as they came out of the house and began strolling down the sidewalk.

"She had to open their office early," Hermione explained. "A footballer lost a tooth." Draco laughed and threw his arm around her.

Narcissa tailed them, observing her son's spritely gait and the sound of eagerness in the girl's voice.

Thomas left the house and got in his car. As he began the drive, he noticed a tall, blonde woman wearing a black robe, occasionally darting behind a tree or bush, as she walked purposefully. She obviously didn't realize how much she stood out. Thomas saw the couple, the apparent object of her attention, far ahead.

He parked the car and walked up to her with a shy smile. "Mrs. Malfoy?"

She turned around, instinctively grasping her wand more firmly.

"I'm Thomas Granger, Hermione's father," he said, taken aback by her beauty and honoring her with a slight bow. "I believe we should talk."

The sheltered Narcissa was naturally a little nervous being approached by someone on her first foray to the Muggle world, but she liked the look and voice of this man. They were just about the same height. He had curling, sandy brown hair, clear eyes and upturned corners on his lips that suggested a pleasant disposition.

"Of course, Mr. Granger," she said, allowing him to usher her to his spacious sedan.

"I thought we'd be more comfortable here," Thomas explained, as he turned on the ignition to activate the heater. "It's cold this morning." Narcissa gasped at the mechanical operation.

"It's all right," he assured her. "It's just to keep you warm." The slight breeze of heat that emanated from the vent felt good and she began to relax, holding her hand in front of it.

He smirked at her enjoyment of something so mundane, then realized he was enjoying watching her flutter her long, slim fingers against the warmth. He shifted in his seat. "I have to ask. Does your family have any malicious intentions toward my daughter?"

She turned toward him. "No. I'm a bit embarrassed that you feel it necessary to pose such a question."

"Well, there is history," he pointed out.

"My sister is dead," she told him, "and my husband is..." she dropped her eyes, "...no longer threatening. As for me," she continued, "I saw how happy my son is with your daughter. That is all I care about. She's an impressive young woman."

"Thank you," he said with a dentist's smile, inclining slightly toward her.

Narcissa gripped her leg and felt her heart beat faster, incredulous that she seemed to be attracted to a Muggle. "I heard Hermione tell Draco that your wife had to care for a toeball that broke a tooth? What does that mean?"

His shoulders shook with his good-natured laugh. She smiled in response. "It was a _football player, _a goalie, who was hit in the face by a ball. From what Hermione has told us, that's similar to a Keeper in your quidditch game."

She tittered. "I've never been one for sports, but my husband was a Seeker and Draco carried on the family tradition. Of course, he's much better at it," she said, her face glowing, as she spoke of her son.

"You're very proud of him, aren't you?" Thomas watched as her smoky eyes dampened.

"We haven't always done the right thing for our son, Mr. Granger—"

"—Thomas," he interjected.

"Thomas," she continued. "But, on his own, without negative influences, he's a fine boy."

"I'm sure that's true, Mrs. Malfoy..."

"...Narcissa."

He smiled in acknowledgement.

"Cissy, if you'd like."

"I like Narcissa," Tom said, still smiling.

She turned away slightly to hide her blush at forty.

"As I was saying, Narcissa," he continued, clearing his throat and turning to face the windshield, "I've seen glimmers of Draco being a fine, young man, who makes very wise choices."

"...such as your daughter."

"Exactly."

Their bodies, warm in the heated vehicle, released the smell of her perfume and his aftershave, mixing to create an intoxicating scent.

She breathed it in, then reluctantly out. "I should be going," she said, placing her hand on the door handle.

"If you're going to Disapparate," Tom said, pleased with himself that he got the word right, "you might want to do it from inside here. Most people aren't dressed like you."

She looked at him curiously.

"Not everyone can pull it off so well," he added.

She smiled again. "It's been a pleasure to speak to you, Thomas." She held out her hand.

He took it, though more in a hold, than a shake. "I'll tell my wife that meeting you has eased my concerns about Draco, but I won't mention how lovely you are."

_Yes, blushing at forty!_

"What will you tell your husband about our conversation?"

"I think...nothing," she answered. "I'll just add it to the secrets I'm keeping from him. Good-bye, Thomas." And she was gone.

"Good-bye, Narcissa," he said too late. He sat in the car until it issued the warning sound that he was low on fuel, thinking of his grandmother's and Hermione's words, with which he was sure the Malfoy woman would concur—"I need my magic."

Glancing at the red light on the dashboard, an example of Muggle technology, he said aloud, "Magic comes in many forms."


	7. Sacrifice

Yes, the air was cold, but the sun was bright, or maybe it just seemed that way to Draco, because he was walking with his arm around Hermione. It was a nice area between her parents' house and the school she was attending, with manicured lawns giving way to clean car parks as they neared the destination. Early in their stroll, he'd thought they were being followed, but he hadn't seen anything when he'd turned around and that feeling had left. This was definitely worth sneaking out of Hogwarts, but he still didn't understand.

He glared at the aging brick school building as if it were a rival. "Why is the most talented witch from our year in a Muggle school?" he asked her. "Why didn't you come back to Hogwarts?"

The brunette at his side shrugged. "After I found my parents, they asked me to stay with them for the first term. We agreed I'd return to Hogwarts after Christmas."

"But you didn't," he said, turning to her and draping his arms lightly around her. "Why didn't you? Was it because of me?"

She looked up at him, her eyes drawn, as they often were, to his full lips, slightly more vivid in color from the cold. "Not entirely," she said carefully, "but I suppose I thought it a good reason to extend my break from..."

"From what?"

Unexpectedly, she lay her head on his chest and began to tremble. "It was miserable," she cried, though her eyes stayed dry. "We were hungry, tired and frustrated, bitchy. Ron left me..."

_Oh, you poor dear,_ she heard Clothilde, the senior of her witch ancestors, who had taken up residence inside her mind.

Draco tightened his hold at the first sign of her emotion and even more with the mention of her former boyfriend. _Will I ever be shed of him, short of killing him, that is._

"Then we were chased by that damn snake and snatchers, captured and..." She broke off and pulled away from him.

There it was again, still wedged between them. It could break from the pressure of their union or break them apart before really establishing a union—his cowardly actions when she and her companions were brought to Malfoy Manor. True, she didn't know everything that he'd done, but would it even matter?

He glanced around and saw that no one was paying attention to them. He pulled a glass vial from his inner coat pocket, a habit he'd picked up from Potions Master Slughorn, then touched his wand to his head, extracting a silver string of memory, which he placed in the small tube.

He pressed it into her hand, saying, "I would've never left you."

"What's this?" she asked as the first bell rang.

"Something I can't explain to you myself," he said, with the closest to a tender look that had ever crossed his countenance.

She looked at the vial curiously and he cradled her face in his hands. "I would've never left you."

Hermione shook her head. "You can't say that. You don't know what it was like, how he was tormented by the horcrux. He just couldn't take it anymore."

"In the first place," Draco said, maintaining his gaze while he twirled one of her dark caramel locks through his fingers, "I have more evil in me, so the horcrux wouldn't affect me as strongly. And the idea of leaving you alone with another bloke?" he said with an ironic chuckle, "never."

She sighed. There was so much to like, possibly even love about him, but there was always...

_Don't be so quick to dismiss anything so...what's that word your friends use? Hot! _enthused Finola, her ancestor with the most scintillating past.

Hermione smirked in response. The second bell rang. Draco lowered his head for a small kiss good-bye, then walked away in search of somewhere from which it would be safe to Disapparate.

The vial in Hermione's hand felt as if it were burning and taunting her. How would she ever get through the day until she could see what it contained?

_You, _harrumphed Hester in her head, _what about us?_

The five of them managed to contain their curiosity through Honors History and Mathematics and Physics, then Hermione decided she could wait no longer. For the first time in her life, she skived at the beginning of lunch hour, Apparating to Diagon Alley and the Wizards' Lending Library.

She presented her wand for identification and headed to one of the cubicles housing a public pensieve. It was much more utilitarian than the ornate one from Dumbledore's office that Harry had described for her. Not allowing herself to think about what other memories might have been viewed in it, she dropped the contents of Draco's vial into the magical fluid and leaned over, putting her face very close, until it sucked her into its depths.

* * *

She landed on a marble floor, covered with an expansive hand-woven rug. There was a marble fireplace and gilded mirror. She recognized her location as the drawing room of Malfoy Manor. Standing across the room from her were Harry, Ron and herself in the clutches of snatchers.

She gasped as she realized what recollection this was. She saw now that Draco's eyes were fastened on her and his fists and jaw were clenched tight. Bellatrix was raging. "You have no idea of the danger we are in!"

_We can hear his thoughts, dear,_ said her great-great-grandmother Jean._ He's so concerned for you_.

Hermione watched as Bellatrix grabbed her and ordered Draco to lock up the boys.

_Oh, my, he's quite incensed now_, said the Puritan Hester.

_I'll make you pay, you bitch,_ the earthier Finola quoted him, as he led Ron and Harry to the cellar and looked back at the two women, glaring at his aunt.

_Blood sacrifice, so that's what he has in mind,_ said Clothilde thoughtfully, as Hermione followed Draco and her familial witches continued sharing his thoughts with her.

Bellatrix's shouting could be heard in the cellar. Ron and Harry challenged Draco, urging him to take action to protect Hermione.

_He's thinking 'I'm trying to. Now let me go_,' reported Jean.

He tore up the stairs, pulling off his black jacket and beginning an incantation. "Accio Fowl," he commanded, as he locked the cellar door and ripped off his shirt. A small peacock from the flock that wandered the yard appeared at his feet. He continued his chants through the first of Hermione's screams of pain and Ron's wails for her from behind the locked door.

Draco used his wand to quickly slice open the bird. Hermione cried again and he looked up, his face twisted in anguish for her, then held the bird over his head, allowing its blood to drip onto his blond hair and in his mouth. It stained his face and bare chest.

He tensed and hissed through his teeth, absorbing some unseen pain. Lines began to burn into his skin. Hermione watched with wide-eyed astonishment as **dblood **appeared on his arm.

_He suffered with ya, Darlin'_, whispered Finola. Hermione nodded in understanding.

As the cries from the other room and the initial distress subsided, Draco ordered Scourgify to clean himself and the surrounding area, then redressed.

He returned to the drawing room, passing Wormtail on the way. Hermione was lying on the floor at his aunt's feet, barely breathing. He made a move to go to her when Lestrange said, "Greyback, take her if you want to."

"**Noooo!**" shouted Ron, bursting into the room.

Draco turned in that direction.

_He's glad the redhead is there for you_, Hester told her.

The rest was a spate of shouted hexes, erratic body movements, crashing glass and Dobby's brave rescue of the captives.

Following the escape, the Malfoy household became quiet and tense, awaiting the arrival of the Dark Lord that Bellatrix had prematurely summoned. Draco retreated to his princely quarters to lie on his super-sized bed. He took off his jacket and shirt and studied his new wounds. "Hermione," he breathed, "be safe."

* * *

The vision clouded over and Hermione found herself back in the library. She was silent as she retrieved the silver swirls that testified to Draco's sacrifice for her. Her personal, inter-generational coven withdrew its influence on her, allowing her the freedom to solely contemplate what she'd witnessed and what it meant for her and Draco.

_Will you still meet me on Valentine's Day? _read the note delivered by the eagle owl upon her arrival back to her parents' home.

She replied immediately. _Yes. I'll have questions._

The owl returned to her later that night with a one sentence message: _I'd expect nothing less._


	8. Very Special

Draco arrived at Madam Puddifoot's an hour earlier than the designated time and consulted with the august woman herself. While she appeared fussy and silly to the general public, Draco knew from his mother that she was one of the most powerful witches in the area. She'd dedicated her life to the magic of her tearoom, perfecting its charms over the years, so that the enchantment was unbreakable. It had made her rich and influential. Few people knew that she sat on the Wizengamot.

"She's very special to me, Madam," Draco confided to her about Hermione, "and we have something important to discuss."

Madam simpered (part of the act). "I can see that she is, Draco. I've never seen you like this. Will you be wanting a private room then?"

He chuckled. "No, this will be her first visit here and she's fascinated with the idea of your spell. I just want your permission to cast Muffliato and Silencio charms so that no one can hear us and we won't be disturbed by others' chatter. I know you usually forbid any other magic in here."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, but not even for you can I break that rule. However," she added, seeing his look of disappointment, "I'll create a booth for the two of you and sound proof it myself." The dining booth with red leather cushioning and wrought iron trim to match the surrounding tables, appeared against the outside wall. "Will that be satisfactory? I located it surrounded by other tables, since you said she's intrigued by my little place, yes?"

He laughed again. "Yes, and I should warn you that she's very clever and determined to leave here with the names of couples she's observed."

She joined in his mirth. "Everyone thinks they can beat Madam Puddifoot, but none do. I'm looking forward to seeing the young woman who has made the cool, detached Master Malfoy rather...enthusiastic."

His grin emphasized the heart shape of his face.

Madam smiled in return and placed one of her plump hands on his shoulder as she rose. She was a sucker for love and romance, particularly in the young. So, as the brightest witch of her age, she'd chosen to dedicate herself to fostering it through her establishment, rather than pursuing the myriad of other opportunities available to her. She brushed some of her wispy, newly-dyed pinkish-auburn hair from her dark brown face. "Claim your spot before someone else gets it. I have to set the stage," she said, winking at one of her favorite young patrons.

The place was filled by the time Hermione arrived. Madam was inspired to create a backdrop for her current reddish pink look. Small tables abounded, seemingly gathered around the booth where Draco sat, looking very much like a king on his throne among his subjects.

Hermione nodded to Luna Lovegood, sitting with a couple of girls that Hermione recognized from Ravenclaw, before Draco met her at the door and wrapped his arms around her.

There was a decided lull in conversation and Hermione knew, without seeing, that there were several people gaping at the spectacle of the evil little cockroach and Mudblood embracing.

She allowed him to lead her to the booth and he ordered hot chocolate for them.

"Have you missed me?" he asked, displaying his brilliant smile. He hadn't been able to sneak out again since that first day.

"Yes," she answered, sliding close to him. She was aware of the continued gawking from some of the other tables, though she couldn't hear them. "And I've been dying to know more."

"Alright," he said with a sigh, scooting away a little so he could see more of her and better gauge her reactions, "satisfy your curiosity."

She cleared her throat and put her elbow on the table to support her chin as she watched him. "That was very...dark...magic, wasn't it? That's to say, I'm very appreciative, of course, but aren't there usually repercussions to performing such a spell? And where did you learn it?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "That's what we were learning at school last year. I haven't suffered anything for it that would prevent me from gladly doing it again. No one will ever hurt you again while I'm near."

She eyed him curiously for making such a confident declaration about something that was really up to fate.

Their hot chocolates magically appeared on the table, just before the first rain of Madam's enchanted confetti. Draco nervously toyed with his mug as he explained, "The protection wasn't only for that day. As long as I'm close enough to you, I'll always take the brunt of any pain you might feel."

Her eyes, nearly the same maple color as her hair, grew large and round with surprise. "Draco, why would you do that?"

He managed a sheepish smile. "You're a natural rebel. You'll always be in the midst of trouble and someone might want to hurt you again. I want to shield you."

"I think you're exaggerating," she said. "I've barely been touched since that day at your house."

He stared at her to make her understand. "That, in spite of being in a battle that reduced a one-thousand year-old castle to building blocks and that killed many, including a number of your friends."

"Do you mean you...but you left with your parents."

He sighed heavily. He hated revealing this much of himself, even to her, but knew it was necessary. "I wouldn't have humiliated them any more than Voldemort already had by refusing to go with them. And it wasn't our fight. I had no interest in being a part of his army or Potter's. But I refused to go far. I stayed close enough that I could still take your blows for you."

She looked down in confusion. "I don't understand why you didn't tell me before, or tell my family when they were castigating you."

Draco snorted. "Do you really think it would have made any difference to them? I still let Bella do what she wanted, and I could add mutilation of a defenseless creature and vampirism on top of it. Oh, yes, a fine suitor for their princess."

"But why didn't you tell me?" she asked, reaching out to place her hand on his, clenched into a tight fist on the table, as it was when this subject had come up during his first meeting with her parents.

Much like that night, he turned his head away as he answered, "Because I still let her do it. I didn't stand up to anyone, like Potter did, or even Weasley when he rushed in to save you. No, I was underhanded out of necessity, since I was too timid to do anything in the open."

Hermione watched the vein in his neck pulse, advertising his disgust with himself. She raised the sleeve of her blouse, viewing her scar. **Mu **was visible, but nothing after that. She'd wondered why the rest of the despised word hadn't festered as much as the first two letters and had healed completely, leaving no trace of injury.

She held it out to Draco. "Show me your arm," she requested.

He looked at her and rolled up the sleeve of his sweater. **dblood **was marked on him permanently, still angry and red after all these months, with the skin puckering around it. She touched it with a tentative finger and felt sudden tension in his limb, though he allowed no other expression of pain.

"Sometimes it takes a snake," she said softly, resting her arm against his. "If you had stood up to them at that moment, you would have likely been in the cellar too, bellowing as helplessly as Ron."

He studied her face as she continued. "You were ruthless and terrible and it allowed you to save my life, then and later in the battle. You are my hero."

She raised her hand to touch his face and he felt absolution, a great burden lifted from him. He grasped her hand and kissed its palm, then the heel of her hand, then her wrist. He looked down at her, his grey eyes like heated steel. She flushed and turned to look at the other couples.

"Why can't we hear anything? Is that part of the magic of the room?"

Draco caught Madam's eye and touched a finger to his ear, their pre-arranged signal for her to lift the privacy charms.

Hermione gasped. "Is that Neville and Romilda Vane?"

"Ah, yes," Draco said lazily, regaining his swagger, "the other Chosen One. He had such cache after decapitating Nagini, that he was already considered a prize. Now he's also pumped up a bit and is generally viewed as quite dashing."

_Did you get that, ladies? _Hermione silently asked her quartet of witches, who weren't going anywhere until she'd made some definite decision about the blond man next to her.

_Yes, dear, _answered Clothilde, _Romilda and Dashing Neville._

Hermione smirked. This was going to work. It was internal and not magical, so there was no way that Madam could thwart it. She had no intention of using the information, she just wanted to "beat the house," in effect.

She looked around again. "Oh, look. It's Cho and Seamus. I always knew they'd make a nice pair."

_Cho and Seamus, got it, _said Jean.

Draco grinned at her. "Well, being here together will allow them to test the waters, get used to each other in comfortable surroundings, around people they know, without having to commit, because no one will remember that they were here, snogging unabashedly."

_We will,_ promised Finola.

"It's really extraordinary," Hermione said, "quite a gift to new couples. They seem to have accepted us as well."

"Hmm," Draco said, moving closer and snaking his arms around her, "I don't think we've really challenged their sensibilities yet. Let's set tongues wagging, including our own."

She would have normally resisted such familiarity in public, but something about this place... She responded to his kiss, nipping his lips when they came up for air. She took a drink of her rapidly cooling cocoa and commented on a couple of other unexpected pairings, as another timed shower of confetti exploded about the room.

_Can you still remember them? _Hermione asked as Draco nuzzled the side of her face.

_Of course, _answered Hester_. Nevilda, Chomus, McLagginson..._

"Have you gotten over your fascination with this place yet?" asked Draco. "Again, you're turning something fun into work. Why don't you concentrate less on the other couples," he said, rubbing her leg under the table, "and more on us."

"I thought you respected my boundaries," Hermione said, as his hand inched slowly up her thigh, his fingers teasing in an inward direction.

He nibbled the back of her neck, "Of course I respect them, but it's Valentine's Day. You have to expect me to push them a little."

"Hester thinks you're pushing a little too much," she said, uncontrollably leaning against him, rather than away from him. They had communicated by owl over the last few days and she'd told him about her visiting ancestors.

He snickered. "Hester's a bit prim for me. What does Finola have to say?"

"Oh, she thinks I should crawl on top of you," Hermione said, her breathing becoming more labored as Draco continued his sweet assault on her reserves.

"I _love _Finola," he said, placing increasingly insistent kisses over her neck and shoulders.

His tone softened as he held Hermione's face in his hands."Jean, you're the most like her. You understand her and know how I feel. Make sure she knows too." His kissing stopped and he hypnotized her with his stare and voice. "Help me convince her that I love her."

She silently returned the stare and bit her lip. "But..." she started to say.

Before she could sensibly argue, he took her mouth in a kiss that made everyone in the enchanted tearoom turn and stare. She was lightheaded and euphoric and began to return his ardor, nearly lying in his arms.

"Clothilde has registered her opinion, if you'd like to hear," she said teasingly.

"Sure," he said with an elaborate roll of his eyes, "take a poll for everything."

She swatted his arm and sat up. "She says, 'He's a beautiful young man, Hermione. He only wants to make you happy and we know he does.' " She put her arms around his neck and pulled his head down. "I think perhaps we can leave the two of you alone now..."

"Hermione," came the deep, heartbroken voice from the front of the table.

She looked toward the sound and gulped, absorbing the pain she saw in the familiar blue eyes and lightly-freckled face. "Ron..."


	9. Inevitable

Through the magical confetti and swags of mauve ribbon, the patrons of Madam Puddifoot's gawked. The more astute among them knew that this confrontation—Weasley and Malfoy over Granger—was years in the making. Alone at a table close to the door, young Astoria Greengrass watched, her still childish, round face red with humiliation and anger.

Hermione stared at Ron, her chest heaving with short, shallow breaths. His look in return was disappointment, shock and, overall, a big "Why?" Draco reacted possessively, increasing his hold on her.

"Perhaps you didn't read the rules on your way in, Weasley. You don't approach another table."

Ron gave him a narrow-eyed, stony-faced scowl that had Draco instinctively reaching for his wand.

He asked, "What are you doing, Hermione? After everything he's done, how..."

"Ron, I..." she said, scooting away from Draco, so she was equidistant between them.

Draco glared at Ron while addressing himself to Hermione. "He won't remember," he assured her. "When he leaves here, he'll forget what he's seen."

She looked between them. What could she say...to either of them? But there was no way that it could be resolved with them staring daggers at each other, and if the insults, at which they were both so good, started... "I'm sorry," she said to both of them, then Disapparated.

Her disappearance allowed for a relief of tension in the rest of the room, if not in the booth from which she'd vanished.

Ron's anger was fiery, his ears turning red and his breath puffing hotly. Draco, on the other hand, was cold, with frosted eyes and precisely controlled movements, breathing smoothly and evenly through his nose.

"Outside," Ron growled, and turned to stomp out the door.

Draco pushed the table away from him with a loud scrape and leapt up to follow the broad-shouldered redhead. _Too bad he won't remember seeing us when he gets outside, _Draco said to himself. _I'd love to fight him._

Ron stepped out to the middle of a frozen pond across the lane and, turning around, burned the back of the section on which he was standing, leaving about ten metres of ice behind him.

Draco stood in front of him. "Not that I don't relish the idea of kicking your ass on general principles, Weasley," he said with a smirk, "but what's brought on this particular temper tantrum?"

Ron's laugh was derisive. "Do you think I don't remember what I saw in there? What you were doing to her?"

Draco stared, surprised that Ron had retained the memory—surprised and delighted. "Alright, Weasley, we'll do this," he said, etching his own contest area.

"Ron!" shouted Harry Potter, having noticed the beginnings of a Wizards' Duel as he and Ron's sister Ginny prepared to enter Madam Puddifoot's. He ran to the edge of the pond.

"Stay out of this, Harry," Ron yelled from the ice floe.

"Ron, you'll be suspended," Harry reminded him. In their first day of auror training, they'd learned that duels for personal issues were strictly forbidden.

"Does that mean you won't be my second?" Ron asked, undaunted.

Harry stood quietly, then shook his head no.

"I will," declared Neville, stepping forward. He and most of the people in Madam Puddifoot's had left when the combatants did. After exiting the tearoom, they had no idea what had prompted this fight, but recognized its inevitability.

Draco looked toward the observers. "And who will act as my second?"

Millicent Bulstrode stepped forward. She was physically as powerful and imposing as most of the young men and, after her first embarrassing duel with Hermione, she'd dedicated herself to learning control and technique, and was grudgingly acknowledged as the best duelist in Slytherin. Draco was next.

He smirked with confidence as the seconds made their way across the pond to the newly-created ice arena.

The four donned traditional robes and exchanged the formal bows.

"To the death, Weasley?" Draco challenged.

_So tempting. _"No, that would hurt her. We fight until one of us is in the water."

Draco bristled that Ron had been more considerate of Hermione than he. "So it's an endurance fight," he sneered. "You don't stand a chance."

"You forget," Ron said with a tight smile, "I'm a Keeper, always protecting the hoops. You're a Seeker. You fly around wherever you want until you spot the snitch, kick into action for a short period and take most of the glory."

Draco was quiet, gauging the intensity and purpose of the man in front of him.

"I'm all about endurance," Ron continued, "like the way I feel about her. You're a flash in the pan and that's all she is to you."

His body tightening with anger, Draco adopted a fighting stance. "Don't assume anything about my feelings for her, Weasley." _Expelliarmus, _he said silently.

Ron felt a twitch in his hand but managed to hold on to his wand. "Oh, yeah, when did they begin?" Ron provoked him, sending an unspoken stunning spell. Draco stumbled backwards. "Not when you called her Mudblood, I _assume," _he said with scorn_._ "Was it when we were older? And she got prettier?" he added harshly, casting another Stupefy as he advanced.

Draco backed up almost to the edge. "Protego," he shouted with a sweep of his wand. Ron deflected the green light aimed toward him from Draco's wand, but he felt a throbbing pain in his wand hand, as a result.

"That's right. I became attracted when she became attractive. That must mean it isn't real. Expelliarmus," he commanded loudly, anxious to get that wand away from Ron, who was turning out to be more of an adversary than he would have imagined.

Again Ron held onto his wand, though this time he visibly winced with the effort.

Draco sneered at the obvious show of pain in his opponent. "What about you?" he panted. "How long did you want her before you got the guts to do anything about it?"

Ron threw a jelly-leg jinx that barely missed Draco. The frigid, watery chasm between the slab of ice and the rest of the pond grew, as their fighting area shrank.

Their visible breaths in the frosty air were denser and more frequent and still they magically and verbally sparred. The crowd watching them doubled, placing bets on the winner and arguing amongst themselves. The fighters were oblivious to everything but each other and a long-simmering animosity, now given new urgency with their mutual desire for Hermione.

"Oh, come on, Malfoy, you can do better than that," Ron sneered as one of Draco's spells whizzed harmlessly past him. Or are you really that lost without your Unforgivable curses, you white-haired bastard."

"Don't get so morally superior, Weasel. You left her. She could've been captured by Snatchers or You-Know-Who, himself, and you didn't care. Your feelings were hurt," Draco threw out as he and Ron circled each other, looking for weaknesses.

The freckles on Ron's face came into sharp relief, as he went white with shock. He'd never forgiven himself for his abandonment of Hermione when they were on the lam with Harry. There was only one way that Malfoy would have known about it. "Yeah, well, I came back for her then,didn't I? And I'm not giving her up now," he shouted, followed by another command to disarm.

Draco's wand fell to his feet. He quickly summoned it back before Ron could throw another spell. "She's not yours to give up. She dropped you at Christmas...for me," he taunted.

Newly enraged, Ron ran forward. "Stupefy, Stupefy, Stupefy," he howled, slashing the air between them.

Draco lost control under the onslaught and fell backward into the water. He came to the surface, spluttering and shivering. Ron stood over him.

"You were with her?" he asked in a low, tense voice, not yet allowing the blond to crawl back onto the ice.

"That's right," Draco said through chattering teeth. "She was in my arms while she wrote the rejection to you."

Ron shook his head in disbelief, turned and took in the audience who had heard Draco's boast, then, with a deep frown, Disapparated.

Draco pulled himself out of the water and onto the even smaller ice circle. He found his wand and stood. The onlookers had all dispersed or Disapparated. He was cold and alone on the tiny island.


	10. Always

The hands tracing Hermione's body were familiar—big and raspy, yet gentle, like the toucher was afraid he'd break her. She murmured softly as he leaned closer, "Ron".

"I won't stop loving you," he whispered.

_A lovely man, _said Clothilde, pulling Hermione out of her dream. _He reminds me of my first husband, Roscoe._

_Is that why you helped him remember seeing her with Draco? _asked Finola, still annoyed. _One of them could have been hurt in that duel._

_A man's love needs to be tested, _argued Clothilde. _We understood that in my day. We appreciated chivalry. I wish we could've seen the fight. That Weasley girl's description just wasn't enough._

_Hmph, _chimed in Hester, _maybe we could have, if Jean hadn't urged Hermione to leave._

_There was nothing to be gained by her staying. We could all feel how torn she was, _responded Jean._  
_

_She was fine until the redhead came, _pointed out Finola. _She and Draco were so happy. She was about to tell him that she was going back to Hogwarts to be with him, and Draco said that the awkward boy would__n't _ remember what he saw.

_Awkward? He's not awkward. He's just very sincere, more so than anyone from Slytherin could ever be._

_And what's wrong with Slytherin?_

"Ladies, please," Hermione raised her voice over the spat of her witch ancestors, who had grown increasingly vocal to her, and were apparently at odds now about which one of her love interests they preferred. "You're not helping."

_What happened to ya, darlin'?, _asked Finola_._ _You were so happy with Draco and he was so brave for ya._

"I know," Hermione said. "But I hadn't seen Ron in months and when I did, I saw him hurting. Draco said he wouldn't remember, but I couldn't know that for sure. I hate seeing Ron unhappy or hurt. It's devastating."

_You're right,_ Clothilde agreed. _It's wrong to cause such a man pain._

_But what about the pain you'd cause Draco? _Finola reminded her._ You're not bein' fair ta him if ya don't think about what it's like ta be with him like ya did for the other boy. It's wrong to forget how he made ya feel. _

On her left side Hermione sensed feather-light fingertips, then kneading of her muscles and Draco's longer, leaner body over her. "Ah," she moaned, closing her eyes and leaning back.

Then on her right side was Ron again. She was sandwiched between them, the difference in their touch taunting and confusing her. "Stop!" she shouted, sitting up in bed. "Clearly, I'm not going to be able to make a choice that way. Just, please, let me sleep. I'll go see Ron tomorrow."

The witches retreated from her conscious mind, still sniping at each other, but giving her the peace for which she'd begged.

She woke the next morning better rested, but no more sure what she wanted. "Always the tone of surprise," she said, a phrase that had become a frequent endearment between her and Ron since they'd first exchanged it, with her questioning his ability to act heroically and his stunned reaction to her appearance at Bill and Fleur's wedding.

There were strengths that they easily recognized in each other—Ron's admiration of her great intelligence, and her deep regard for his commitment to family and friends—his steadfastness, that not even the mental torture of the Dark Lord could ultimately conquer.

In other areas they'd constantly surprised, as they'd explored each other romantically and dared one another to pursue their goals.

"Oh, Ron," she sighed, causing Clothilde to gloat and Finola to growl.

The other two witches stayed out of the contest of wills, Jean wanting Hermione to make her own decision and Hester hoping for a prolonged competition for her...that is, Herimone's...affections.

Ron had moved out of the Burrow and was sharing Harry's Grimmauld Place house. Hermione took a little from her stash of Floo Powder and called that destination, as she stood in her family's fireplace.

She arrived in the once formal drawing room-turned game room by the young men. Ron was engaged in an intense game of virtual quidditch. He tore off his magical goggles when he spotted her.

"Hi," she said, stepping out from the hearth and nervously twisting her wand in her hands.

"Hullo," he responded in his thick, low voice. His eyes followed her, watching her move and watching her think.

She stammered, as usual, under the blue-eyed stare. "Ummm, how's your hand?"

He lifted it dismissively. "It's fine."

"Good," she said, still held by his scrutiny. "Were you suspended?"

He shrugged and pulled down the corners of his mouth. "Only for a week and only because they had to. Some of the instructors were impressed with how I handled myself."

"Really?"

He gave a small, ironic smile. "Always the tone of surprise." He sat on the leather couch and motioned for her to sit as well. "So, yeah, most people think better of me now than they do of Malfoy...except for you."

She crouched on the edge of the chair across from him. "I don't think better of him, Ron, I think...differently of him."

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "What does _that_ mean?"

Hermione stood and walked around, taking in the antique pinball machine and the half-room sized Wizard's Chess board. She stopped in front of a large screen television. "If I were as smart as everyone thinks I am," she said, "I'd force myself to live without either of you." She dropped her eyes. "But I've always been a bit stupid about love."

"Thank you," said Ron, rising and slowly walking toward her.

"No, I don't mean I'm stupid about who I've loved, just that my actions are sometimes...silly," she clarified, feeling again his penetrating gaze.

He snickered. "Like waiting years to tell me how you felt about me."

She frowned and raised her lash-heavy eyelids to him as he neared her. "You did the same thing."

He looked down on her with a smile. "Everyone knew how I felt about you, except you. Maybe you are a bit thick about love," he teased, lowering his head to kiss her.

Hermione didn't pull away from him and didn't respond. Her neutrality stopped him. Looking at the squiggly mouth he loved, he touched the side of her face. "When did you become so bloody beautiful? He became attracted when you became attractive. That's what he said. But to me, you've always been the only girl I've wanted."

"Ron," she said softly, her voice cracking a little.

He shrugged in resignation. "Well, you'll be a pretty couple. I can hear everyone now, saying, 'It's about time she got away from that pathetic Weasley sod." He looked away. "If he hurts you, he'll regret it."

She put her arms around his waist. He could feel her tears through his thin t-shirt. "I'll always love you, Ron. I wish you could still be my friend."

His embrace was half-hearted, as was his tone. "You ask too much, Hermione. It's been a long time since I could be satisfied with you as just a friend."

She moved her neck so her forehead was pressed against his chest. His shirt would bear the marks of the last tears she'd shed for him.

He sighed and led her back to the fireplace. "You should go now. I have some drinking to do."

"Be careful," she said, accepting the Floo Powder he pressed into her hand.

He gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Always."

Hermione silently gave her next destination and Ron watched as the woman he loved devolved into green vapor. He headed for the kitchen, then stopped and turned back into the room, put on his game goggles, and resumed his match as keeper, the epitome of vigilance and constancy.


	11. Public Spectacle

The new visitors' center outside the front gates of Hogwarts perfectly reflected the current headmistress, in that it was comfortable, but not cozy, inviting one to sit and have a scone and cup of tea, but not overstay the welcome. Hermione arrived there after her visit with Ron and requested a few minutes of Headmistress McGonagall's time.

Meanwhile, Draco sat miserably in his Muggle Studies class, a surprise elective for a seventh/eighth year Pureblood, though he'd surprised people a great deal throughout the year, with his friendliness and willingness to help younger students. This week, however, his classmates felt that he'd reverted to his old, surly self.

They wondered if it had to do with that duel he'd fought the previous weekend with Ron Weasley. No one knew exactly what it was about, though there was speculation that it involved a girl because of the things they said during the fight. It was all quite confusing, but with the dour expression on Malfoy's face, no one dared ask him about it, and his best mates were mum as well.

He bolted from his seat and out the door when the professor released them. The girls who surreptitiously tailed him noticed that he jostled people in the corridor and that his shoulders seemed to be set with hostility. Then he stopped.

Those who passed in front of him saw a change, as a smile slowly crept across his face until it was as bright as the sun shining in the windows, then he hurried to the entrance of Professor McGonagall's office.

The students in the vicinity of the office could report that the headmistress frowned at him and said, "I won't tolerate a public spectacle, Mr. Malfoy."

His attention was all on the brunette with McGonagall—that Granger girl, the one who was such a chum of Harry Potter. Could she have been who he and Weasley were fighting over?

A couple of passers-by heard Malfoy assure the professor that he'd conduct himself appropriately and McGonagall went back upstairs to her office. Then someone said that he said, "Come with me." He turned around and Granger followed him into the Great Hall and the doors shut behind them. What happened then was a mystery to the onlookers.

Just inside the door, Draco turned and grabbed Hermione and peppered her with kisses. "You're here."

Her initial response was just as joyous, but then, she realized she didn't like that triumphant tone in his voice. She pulled away from him and flashed her brown eyes in admonishment. "You shouldn't have fought him."

"Hmph, _he_ challenged _me..._and beat me," Draco pointed out. "Did you look at him like that when you went to see him?"

She quirked an eyebrow. "How did you know I saw him?"

Draco shrugged. "You would see the one that you're leaving behind first. If you'd chosen Weasley," (he rolled his eyes at the ludicrousness of the idea) "you would have come to me directly, not gone to McGonagall first about coming back to school."

The Great Hall was set up for lunch, with the four long tables for the Houses already in place. He moved to the Slytherin table, his black school robe somehow adding to his cockiness as it flared around him. He twirled and sat on the bench, leaning lazily against the table. "I'm your last stop," he said with a smirk, "because you're staying with me."

She stared in open-mouthed astonishment at his arrogance (and accuracy) and sneakily flicked her wand. The Slytherin table scooted back a little, knocking Draco off his balance and high horse simultaneously. She laughed at his surprise.

More humbly, he ran a hand over his blond hair and said, "I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm just so happy you're here." He patted the space next to him. "Please, come sit with me."

She took the seat with her arms crossed, determined to not make this easy for him.

This one time he wisely kept his hands to himself, letting his eyes embrace her instead. "I'm sorry for accepting his challenge and hurting his poor little hand with my wicked wand. Do you care at all that I'm the one that went into the icy water? I got a chill," he said, adding a sneeze for emphasis.

She shifted her eyes toward him slightly and he saw her secret smile, knowing she was biting the inside of her mouth to keep from breaking out in a big, forgiving grin.

"Madam Puddifoot has closed shop and is doing every magic reveal charm and spell she can think of to work out how Weasley was able to retain the image of us."

Hermione sighed. "Clothilde."

"What?"

She looked up at the blue ceiling, streaked with a light yellow, like the sky and sunshine outside. "I was using the ladies to remember couples," she explained slowly. "When Ron came in, Clothilde liked him, so she communicated with his Uncle Bilius, who recently died. Bilius preserved the memory for him."

"How could she have liked the Weasel?"

Hermione wrinkled her brow in mild irritation. "You really must stop disparaging Ron so much. He's quite lovable and appealing to any number of witches."

Draco controlled his facial muscles with difficulty to keep from wincing at that. "Alright, I won't insult Weasley anymore, if you promise never again to subject me to your praise for him, particularly saying you love him. I don't take that well."

"Agreed," said Hermione, uncrossing her arms and turning her body to him.

He put his arms around her. "You outfoxed Madam Puddifoot and forty years of enchantment." His voice held a note of pride. "You really are extraordinary."

She sighed with contentment and he answered with his own exhale.

"So Clothilde betrayed me. How are the rest of my ladies?"

"They've gone now. They recognize my decision."

Draco's smile could be heard in his tone. "To be with me."

Hermione looked up into his face. "Don't make me regret it."

The doors opened just then and hungry young witches and wizards began filing in for lunch. Draco and Hermione moved to sit at the ends of their House's adjoining tables and held hands in the space between.

"What shall we do tonight," Draco asked, "to celebrate your return?" He dug into the food that appeared on the table with gusto.

"I haven't returned yet."

He looked over at her with a frown. "But I thought..."

"I'm moving in tomorrow, so I can start classes Monday. Do you have plans for the weekend?" she asked with a sultry smile.

Draco grinned. "If I did, they just became irrelevant. I want to spend the whole weekend with you, and I have the perfect place."

She rolled her eyes. "The Come and Go Room?"

He shook his head, grinning wider, "We've outgrown that. I have somewhere else in mind."

"Where?"

He turned toward her and crooked his finger for her to lean closer. With his lips pressed against her ear, he whispered, "The Shrieking Shack".

She raised her head and wrinkled her nose. "Eww, Draco, that place is horrible."

His eyes clouded like smoke. "Do you think I would plan and be excited about something for us that was horrible? I've worked on it since the beginning of the school year, hoping I could show it to you."

Hermione bit her bottom lip and leaned closer. "I'm sorry. I should have had more faith in you...and your aesthetic sensibilities," she added with a smile and gentle jab to his ribs.

He raised one corner of his mouth in a half-smile and with the thumping of her heart, she knew she wanted badly to kiss that mouth. "Will you walk me to the front gates?"

They rose together and strolled toward the entrance of the Great Hall holding hands, ignoring the buzz around them.

Ginny Weasley stared with unhappy acceptance; Draco's friend Blaise Zabini subtly ran a finger down his cheek, congratulating his housemate for achieving what he knew was Draco's years' long goal.

The students from Hufflepuff noticed that Malfoy lowered his head for Granger to whisper in his ear then they both laughed.

Some of the witches at Ravenclaw's table claimed they saw his hand graze her bottom just as they reached the entrance.

The doors closed behind them and those left in the Great Hall wondered what was happening on the other side.


	12. Extraordinary Women

The blond and brunette were locked in a tight embrace, standing in the light-filled bedroom.

"Hermione," Draco said playfully, as he came up for air.

"Yes?"

"You're kissing me like you're ready to jump a cliff or two."

"Maybe..."

"Maybe, you say. Well, _maybe_ we'd test that theory, if we weren't in your neat-as-a-pin Muggle bedroom."

Hermione giggled and stepped out of the circle of his arms. "I have to finish packing."

He grinned devilishly and followed her around the room with his glinting eyes. "As it is, I'm still tempted to throw you on your pretty, pastel bed...on your pretty, pastel ass."

She turned her head toward his mischievous smirk and gave a tremulous, self-conscious laugh.

"Wha-at?" he asked.

Her cheeks were a little pinker as she said, "You always make me feel undressed, even though I'm fully clothed, and you've never even seen me when I'm not."

He felt a twinge around his heart, remembering who had seen her that way, but covered it by stepping toward her. "Yet," he said positively.

She grinned and said in a small voice, "yet".

Draco took her hands and adopted a more serious tone. "Does it bother you that I've fantasized about you almost daily for so long?"

With her head down, she raised her eyes to look up at him. Draco wondered if the witch knew how seductive she was.

"It doesn't bother me," she said, "but I don't know if I'm fair to you, because I haven't done the same."

Undaunted, he picked up her trunk and followed her out of the room. "Come on, you've never thought about me?"

"Well..."

They reached her living room and he set the trunk in the fireplace. "All of the years we've known each other and become increasingly attractive, and you've never had any...interesting ideas about us?"

Hermione bit her lip and looked around her, making sure her parents weren't in the vicinity. "I have had a recurring dream the last couple of years," she said, seating herself on the sofa across from the fireplace.

"Tell me," he urged with a grin, moving to sit next to her.

Her brown eyes sparkling, she began, "You're lying on a bed and I use a Sticking Charm so you can't move."

"I like it so far. State of undress?"

"Complete," she answered with a smirk.

Draco smiled brightly. "Go on."

"Well, you watch me undress in front of you."

"And then..."

"And then...nothing," Hermione finished, her grin taking on an evil look.

"Nothing?"

She laughed. "No, I just leave you there writhing. It was a punishment for you and you never did anything that would cause me to stop punishing you."

He gasped in mock shock. "That's just...mean." He moved closer and put his arms around her. "I need to squeeze the mean out of you and encourage kinder thoughts."

With a glossy smile, she pulled his head down for his lips to meet hers, kissing through their teasing.

"Hermione," called her mother, walking into the room and stopping short at the sight of the snog session on her new heather tweed divan.

Draco looked up. "You caught me again, Mrs. Granger."

She smiled tolerantly, her face carrying that pinched look of the perpetual dieter. "Well, you don't seem to be doing anything that Hermione doesn't like."

"Mother," said her daughter, askance, as she extracted herself from the young man's grasp and smoothed her hair.

Mrs. Granger enjoyed tweaking her daughter with just a little more discomfort. "Your mother warned us that you're very enthusiastic about her."

"My mother?"

"Yes," Mrs. Granger continued, "she was here last week when you walked Hermione to school."

"So you met her?" asked Draco, sitting up on the edge of the sofa.

"No, _I_ didn't. I was at the office, but Mr. Granger said she was a very nice woman and obviously very proud of you. Didn't she tell you?"

"No," he said slowly, "but I haven't seen her since then."

"Are you ready to go, honey?" asked Thomas Granger, coming into the room.

"Almost," Hermione answered, "Oh, there's another book I wanted to take. I'll have to go look for it."

Draco watched her leave the room then grinned at her parents. "Mr. Granger, Hermione tells me you have a man cave? I was hoping to see it."

Something about the younger man's tone and his steely eyes made Thomas leery. "Of course, this way," he said, raising his arm to indicate the left side of the house.

He led Draco into a much darker room, with several reclining chairs grouped around a large television and a billiards table at the far end. Draco closed the door and swept his wand across it. "Muffliato." He turned to face Thomas with his arms folded over his chest.

"You met my mother?"

Thomas unconsciously moved behind one of the recliners. "Yes, she was trying to follow you and Hermione. She was rather conspicuous, so I suggested that we should talk."

"Talk where?" Draco asked with a definite hardness in his voice.

Thomas felt the change. Draco was no long a suitor for his daughter, eager for her father to like him. He was a powerful young man demanding answers.

"We sat in my car. It was cold, so I thought she'd appreciate the heater."

Draco sneered. "You warmed her up, did you?"

Granger shook his head then moved to the small refrigerator behind him. "Would you like a beer?"

"It's a bit early in the day, isn't it?"

Thomas handed Draco a bottle and sat in one of the recliners with his own. "This is the time of day you chose to bring up the subject."

"Alright," Draco said, magically flicking off the bottle top and sitting in a chair across from Thomas, "What did you and my very beautiful mother discuss, sitting alone in your heated sedan?"

The brown eyes, so similar to his daughter's, squinted. "I don't like your implication, Draco. All we discussed was you and Hermione."

He studied the older man's face for any subterfuge and found none. The text of their conversation had been innocent, if not the subtext. He sighed. "My mother is an alluring and dissatisfied witch. I don't think she would have done anything overt, but if she were attracted to you, she might have unwittingly enchanted you."

"You think she was attracted to me?" Thomas asked, unable to keep the note of hope and excitement out of his voice.

The young wizard glared at him. "Whether she was or not, it is not something you should think of pursuing. I would take that personally."

Thomas returned the stare, refusing to be quelled by the younger man. "My first opinion of you was right; you are dangerous."

"I'll never hurt Hermione," Draco stated, "but I won't hesitate to do damage to anyone who endangers my relationship with her. An association with my mother represents a threat to that and, therefore, to you."

"Well, once again, I think we understand each other," Thomas said, rising from his chair. "Hermione is determined to date you and, as we all know, there's very little I can do about it at this time. But regardless of what you think of me, I'll do anything to protect my daughter, even if it means dying at the hands of the boy who claims to love her. Now _that_ would have a negative effect on your relationship. Don't you think?"

Draco leaned forward in his chair, running his thumb over the droplets on his bottle and wondering whether he was sweating as obviously. He hadn't wanted this confrontation to be so tense, but he'd reacted strongly to the idea that he and Hermione could be affected by what their parents might do. In truth he knew his mother was miserable and wouldn't have minded if she found someone to make her happy. And this was, after all, the man who had raised Hermione. He had to be exceptional.

He looked up at the older man. "Thomas, do you have experience in affairs—the logistics, comfort with the deceit required, the stomach for it?"

Thomas sat back down. "No."

Draco nodded. "Association with the Death Eaters meant a fair amount of debauchery. It was one of Voldemort's early lures for followers. Mother was forced to participate. After that experience, she could use some tenderness, but my first consideration has to be Hermione. I don't want her to be hurt and your being involved with anyone, especially my mother, would hurt her, correct?"

Thomas ran his hands through his sandy curls. "Perhaps." He sighed and took a long swallow from his bottle. "This isn't a conversation I ever expected to have with Hermione's boyfriend."

A warm feeling coursed through Draco. It was the first time that anyone had referred to him as Hermione's boyfriend. He shrugged and explained."In the Pureblood community, some marriages, such as my parents', are still arranged. It makes for a certain...flexibility about love and relationships."

"And that's what you want to bring my daughter into?"

"Absolutely not!"

He could see the younger man's resolve and his sincerity and knew Hermione's determination to be with him. His daughter wasn't a normal young woman who would, even symbolically, move from his care to that of her husband's.

He had accepted years ago that she would never need him. Any relationship she continued with him and her mother was strictly by choice. Her life was all about choices, especially now, since she'd helped vanquish the threats to her adopted wizarding world.

Thomas shifted uncomfortably at that thought. It still rankled that she'd been in so much danger and, had not only not felt the need for her father to protect her, but had instead taken him out of harm's way, like an infirm old man.

He'd been trying ever since they'd come back from Australia to reclaim his manhood. Was that part of what fueled his desire for Narcissa? Had she enchanted him? Was it simple, middle-age crisis? Did any of that matter when he couldn't think of anything else?

He looked again at the young man across from him. "I taught her to swim, ride a bike, and to read when she was three. I was the one she cried out for when she had bad dreams."

Thomas stood and walked over to Draco's chair. "No matter what I do, I won't hurt my little girl and I'll do whatever is in my power to make sure no one else does either."

He lowered his bottle and Draco clinked his against it. It wasn't perfect, but they had an understanding.

"Draco, have you two finished bonding? Professor McGonagall is expecting me," Hermione called from the other side of the door.

"We're coming, honey," said Thomas.

Draco put his arm around her as they exited the room. With their good-byes finished, the couple stepped into the fireplace.

"I admire a man who surrounds himself with extraordinary women," Draco said, glancing first at Mrs. Granger then Hermione.

He and Thomas shook hands, the older man having the last word in their meeting of the minds, "Thank you, Draco. So do I."


	13. Higher Standard

**_I always send PMs to readers who fav my stories, but one of my new followers doesn't have PM so I will acknowledge those which I haven't contacted here. Thank you, trueloveskiss, laaiqa, sherry905, christy86 and Fire Sage._**

**_This is my entry in Messenger of Dreams' all-dialogue challenge_**

* * *

"You've set yourself quite a task, Miss Granger, catching up with your classmates so late into the term."

"Catching up and exceeding them, Professor McGonagall."

"Well, I have no doubt that if such a thing is possible, you are the one to accomplish it. While your experiences from last year clearly showed you to be an outstanding witch in special circumstances, you're probably woefully behind on the more advanced but practical magic that those in your year have been learning...and there's still your NEWTS as well."

"I'll manage it all, Professor. This is very important to me."

"And you won't be distracted by your...new interests?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Professor. But I believe you understand me well enough to know that nothing will take precedence over my academic success."

"I'm relieved to hear it. Let me walk you downstairs. I assume you have already had your trunk transported to your room."

"Yes, and I've called for Crookshanks as well. I left him in the forest at the end of my last school term, knowing there would be no one at home to care for him. My promise to return for him was one of the things that would ensure that I did come back to complete my studies."

"Commendable forethought, my dear. Oh, hello, Mr. Malfoy. I didn't expect to see you waiting at the bottom of my stairs. Are you here to see me?"

"No, Professor. I was waiting for Ms. Granger."

"I see...I hope the two of you manage to find some time this weekend for studying. I've had to adjust some school rules to accommodate those of you who are of age and still trying to complete your courses after the debacle here last year. But I will tolerate no violation of the regulations that apply to you. Nor do I wish to see any decline in classroom performance from either of you. I hope I make myself clear."

"Perfectly, Professor. Hermione and I understand that you will hold us to a higher standard than other student couples, simply because we are leaders of our Houses—one with which you identify and one for which you have great disdain."

"Draco! Please forgive him, Professor. I'm sure he didn't mean..."

"I know what he meant, Miss Granger, and he's not far from wrong. Perhaps you can change my opinion, Mr. Malfoy."

"That is my intention, Professor. Now if you and Hermione have concluded your meeting, we do have plans to celebrate her return."

"Of course. Just make sure some of those plans include studying. Miss Granger, your compensatory exams will begin after dinner Monday."

"Thank you very much, Professor. I hope you enjoy the rest of your weekend."

"Hmm, comparatively, I shall. Good-bye for now."

"Well, glad that's over. You know, Hermione, I don't think she 'ships Malfranger."

"I can't believe you challenged her like that! She might have expelled us before I could even return to class."

"She wouldn't. You heard her acknowledge that I was right. Now, take my hand and let's get out of here."

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

"Is there something wrong, Draco?"

"It's just...this school. I don't think you realize, Hermione, how it's felt all these years to be anything other than a Gryffindor, with the Headmaster coming from that House for so long—first Dumbledore, now the tartan prude. No wonder Potter always got away with so much, even before he understood his mission."

"You don't understand him, Draco. Yes, they allowed him to bend rules, but he never asked for that. He was always willing to accept the consequences for what he did and surprised when there weren't any. As a matter of fact, I sometimes thought he wanted some trouble to highlight the similarities with his father."

"Huh, I never thought of it like that. Maybe you could change my opinion of him."

"Really?"

"Anyone other than your old boyfriends, I'm willing to see through your eyes. I trust your judgment."

"That's...very sweet of you. If you could change my mind about someone you know, who would it be?"

"Ah...my mother. So much of what she's done has been against her protests. She just wanted to protect me. And you know her family, the Blacks, weren't all Dark Magic practitioners. There was her sister Andromeda and her cousin Sirius. I know you liked him."

"Actually, I was never that impressed with Sirius. Harry loved him, of course, but he was so reckless and temperamental. I do have a rather high regard for his brother Regulus."

"The Dark Lord's junior lieutenant?"

"Is that what they called him? Kreecher, the Blacks' house elf, told us the wonderful story of how Regulus protected him and sacrificed himself to thwart You-Know-Who. Actually, I've come to think of you as being very much like him. While other young men tend to rebel against their parents, you and he were such good sons that you accepted their good and bad and still only wanted to make them proud. In the end though, you both looked for the right thing to do."

"Hmm, I don't know what might have caused him to change, but I'm looking at my inspiration. It's one of my favorite things to do, along with holding and kissing my inspiration, dreaming about her and how to make her happy."

"Ohhh, you snake, slithering your way into my mind."

"And your heart?"

"Yes, Draco, and my heart."

"Hold me tighter. Now that we're clear of the school gates, the fastest way to get there will be Apparation."

"Where?"

"The Shrieking Love Shack."


	14. That Feeling

His man cave couldn't hold him or his restlessness after the conversation with Draco. They'd said a lot, but the thing that stayed with him was that Narcissa Malfoy might have been attracted to him.

He wandered the house after the young man and his daughter had left and his wife had gone shopping.

He missed her so much. Standing in front of the fireplace, his hands on the mahogany mantel, Thomas Granger wondered, _Who? Who did he miss? Was it just Hermione? _No. "I miss...Monica."

When Hermione had Obliviated her parents, the history she'd created for them was that they'd met at a dentists' conference five years before and had fallen hopelessly in love. They'd moved to Australia and lived like newly-weds, consumed with each other. Monica had been carefree and merry, uninhibited and crazy about Wendell.

After Thomas and Meredith regained their memories, she'd reverted to her original self. It was from her that Hermione inherited her enormous drive and concern for perfection. Her sharp edges were softened by the great compassion that was her father's legacy, but Meredith had no such buffering.

She'd become even more obsessed with their practice and had even less time for the kind of romance they'd had in Australia. Thomas had tried repeatedly to recapture that feeling with her, but the only thing about which Meredith had any satisfaction was the comfortable, undemanding relationship with her spouse.

With a sigh his eyes wandered from the family portrait of the three of them that hung over the mantel to the small wooden box at his right hand, where Hermione kept her Floo Powder.

He raised the cover and let the granules sift through his fingers, remembering Draco's words that his mother was dissatisfied (_What woman wasn't_, Thomas thought) and could use some tenderness. God knew he had it stored to give to someone.

He grasped some of the powder and with a self-conscious laugh, stepped into the fireplace. They made it look so easy—throw down the powder and say their destination and disappear. Magic made everything look easy, even love.

"What if I could do that," he said aloud. "What if I could just drop this powder and say 'Malfoy Manor' and..."

He suddenly felt disoriented, with spinnig head and a stomach turning violently, as he seemed to lose sight of his surroundings and speed through space. He found himself standing in what appeared to be a much larger firebox, staring at darker and more ornate furnishings. Had he been dreaming? Would he awake to find himself in his favorite recliner, with the television remote in his hand?

A figure wearing a black robe came into the room and stopped at sight of him. "Thomas!"

If this was a dream, he was determined to make the most of it. "Narcissa," he said huskily, stepping out of the fireplace and hurrying over to her.

She stared at him with nervous trembling.

"How am I here?" he asked, returning her intense gaze.

She stammered. "I, umm, I changed the wards so that if you tried to come, you wouldn't be hurt."

"Did you put a spell on me?" He held his arms stiffly at his sides to prevent himself from touching her.

She gave him a shy smile and shook her head. "I just felt the attraction between us and was afraid you might try."

"Mutual attraction?" Thomas asked for confirmation.

"Cissy," came the voice of Lucius Malfoy from his study, three rooms back in the massive residence.

Narcissa turned her head in that direction. "I'm going to send you upstairs," she whispered. "I'll be there soon."

Thomas's reserves reached their breaking point. He gathered the beautiful woman in his arms and kissed her. "Hurry."

She nodded and waved her wand in front of him. "Coming, Lucius," she called, as Thomas disappeared.

She smoothed her blonde hair and scurried to the study, her stiletto heels clicking on the marble floors.

Lucius sat at his desk in front of the multi-paned window, which was flanked by dark green drapes. His wine glass and decanter were tipped over and blood red liquid stained the papers on his desk.

"Oh, Lucius," said his long-suffering wife, hurrying forward with her wand to Scourgify and salvage the documents.

"It's not my fault," said Malfoy, carrying his glass across the room to refill it from the bar. "If I had my wand, it wouldn't have happened."

"Your new wand is on order, dear," said Narcissa, picking up the cut glass decanter, then transporting it to the kitchen. "As I've explained to you before, you aren't the only wizard who lost his wand last summer."

Lucius was still sensitive to references to the Dark Lord and his contemptuous attitude toward the Malfoy family in his last incarnation.

He pushed a lock of his silver-blond hair behind his ear. "Draco already has a new wand," he said with a pout.

"Draco needed a wand for school. And he didn't have as many specifications for his as you did," Narcissa reminded him.

Lucius sat back at his desk with a "hmph".

Narcissa, still organizing the work surface, turned her head to smile at her husband. "It will be here soon. I spoke to Young Gregorovitch earlier today."

He laid a heavy hand over her rear. "You're a good woman."

She flinched at his touch. She'd managed to avoid physical contact with him for some time and now Thomas, a man who didn't reek of alcohol, was waiting upstairs.

Suddenly she was in Lucius's lap. "Ahh, Cissy, it's been so long," he said throatily.

"It's not a good time, Lucius," she said with a consolation kiss on his cheek. "I have too much to do right now. You sit here and work on your memoirs and I'll see you at dinner. She levitated the wine bottle to him and inched her way off his lap.

Lucius poured more into his glass, while his wife sped upstairs. "I'll get my wand. Then I'll take care of that know-it-all little Mudblood, myself."

* * *

In the room to which Narcissa had sent him, Thomas looked around with curiosity.

It appeared to be a woman's sitting room, with a plushly-cushioned daybed in front of a window and a table set for tea in the middle of the room. Glassed-in curio cabinets stretched the walls. It was still decorated in Slytherin colors, with emphasis on the silver, rather than dark green.

Thomas wandered over to one of the cases and looked at the collection of items. He randomly picked up a book and opened it to see lists of names under headings like **Good Deed, Unfortunate Accident **and **Must Die.** There were no entries under the last category. He breathed a sigh of relief after scanning the negative action pages and not seeing Hermione's name, nor that of any of her friends.

At that moment Narcissa came in the door. "Sorry to keep you waiting," she said breathlessly, her smile and light tread stopping when she saw his eyebrows knit in a troubled expression.

"Narcissa, what is this?"

She crossed her arms defensively. "You didn't seem like the type to snoop, Thomas."

"I don't consider it snooping if something is out in the open," he responded, indicating the exposed shelves.

"Alright, fine," she answered, stomping over to him. "This is an itinerary book for witches. This," she continued, picking up another item, "is a quill pen that uses the blood of the writer as ink. This is a necklace that can put someone in a coma, this..."

"Enough," Thomas said sadly, walking to the window and looking out. "You use these things?"

"Some of them," she answered quietly. "Do I not seem so lovely now?"

He turned back around to look at her. "You're a beautiful woman, Narcissa, but your familiarity with this..."

"I understand. You're a good Muggle and I'm a witch who has practiced dark magic. Never the twain shall meet."

He sighed heavily. "Does Draco practice..."

"We were in a war, Thomas. Draco was a soldier. But he never willingly hurt anyone."

She moved to stand in front of the fireplace. "He loves your daughter; he's willing to change for her." After a moment of silence she continued. "You have to leave by Floo. Step into the fireplace."

He moved to it reluctantly.

"Here, give this to your wife," she said, pressing a ring into his hand. "It gives the wearer a feeling of relaxation and loosens inhibitions."

"Do you read minds?" he asked with a questioning lift of an eyebrow.

"No," she assured him, with a demure dip of her head. "But I know men. You wouldn't have been drawn to me if you weren't deeply dissatisfied and hadn't already tried everything you could. And, frankly, I'll be glad to be rid of this particular piece."

Thomas thought again of the conversation with the woman's son about what association with the Death Eaters had been like for her. He held out his arms but she said quickly, "Now that you've passed through the wards here, I can block you individually, so that you'll be denied access without injury. Goodbye, Thomas."

He gave a tight nod in acceptance and Narcissa tossed a handful of green powder into the firebox. The good Muggle disappeared.

She sighed and reclined on the daybed, her unexpected tears streaking the platinum-colored satin upholstery. He'd stirred things in her that she'd allowed to lie dormant for too long. If not with Thomas, she realized, then maybe a wizard, anyone but Lucius, and soon.


	15. Entranced

_**Entry in the It's So Hypnotic Challenge from RLT.  
Darkin 520 also inspired the return of some characters in this chapter**_

_Show me your legs_, she heard in her mind, with that familiar touch of risque mischief. Draco sat at the table to her left, using his ever-improving Legilimens talents to flirt in class.

Hermione bit the inside of her mouth to control her smile and shook her head in a subtle negative.

_You're wearing those cute socks, aren't you? Not everyone can look as sexy as you do in them. Let me see._

She turned her head in his direction and, with raised eyebrows, mouthed the word, "No". She noticed that his smile, bright eyes and hair made him the most dazzling thing on his side of the rather drab classroom, with its old stone walls and floors and light provided only from the windows.

Undeterred, he continued his telepathic teasing. _It's been hours since I've seen them, remember? You had them wrapped around me with your ankles locked on my back._

She swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on the lecture, but could feel her body reacting to his commentary. She just hoped it wasn't obvious.

_Oooh, is there a draft in here or are you just happy to hear me?_

So apparently, it was obvious, even through her school robe. She put her arm on the table top to block Draco's view.

_Don't do that. I can make you fidget more, you know. Just throw back the bottom of your robe and cross your legs...no, the other way. That's right, now, just a little higher..._

She lifted the hem of her robe to about mid-thigh_. Satisfied_? she asked silently. He'd been instructing her in the mental techniques since she'd returned to school a few weeks ago.

_As much as I can be in here._

She turned her head and answered his smirk with her own smile.

"Miss Granger," barked Professor McGonagall, substituting for an ill Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

"Yes, Professor," she responded quickly, jerking her head back in the speaker's direction.

"Can you tell me, Miss Granger, what is the primary difference between the Imperio Curse and other forms of mental intrusion?"

Hermione stammered. "Well, uh, the Imperio Curse is one of the three Unforgivable Curses."

"Yes," Professor McGonagall snapped, the sharp planes of her face showing disappointment in her favorite student, "as was explained moments ago by your younger classmate. I had hoped that you might give us a more thorough analysis."

"Of course," Hermione said, swallowing her humiliation. "The reason Imperio is one of the unforgivable curses is that it overrides an individual's will, so that he or she can be completely manipulated by the witch or wizard who placed the curse. Other forms of mind control, by comparison, can only offer suggestions to the person under the influence, so that someone will not perform an action in total opposition to his or her conscience or desires."

The professor's look gradually softened from its disapproving lines as Hermione concluded her explanation. "Acceptable," she said, then resumed her lecture.

Hermione gripped her quill in a fist and looked down at her page of abnormally scant class notes, her lips pressed tightly together in self-disappointment.

_I'm sorry_, Draco communicated to her. She turned away from him and propped the side of her head on her upraised arm so he couldn't see her. Her attention was riveted to the lesson for its duration.

At the end of class, Draco jumped from his seat to stand over her. "Hermione, I'm so sorry."

She stood and he saw her cheeks were still red with embarrassment. "You can never do that to me again, Draco. I'm not here for your entertainment."

He looked down shamefaced. "You know you mean more to me than that. I promise I'll never do anything like that during class again. I know how important your school performance is to you." He raised his head and she saw the contrition in his down-turned mouth. "I'm very proud that you've already risen to the top of our class since your return." He dared a touch on her arm. "Do you forgive me?"

She turned her almond eyes up to him. "And you'll never tease me like that again?"

"During class, no. You have my word on it. Now, hurry up and forgive me, because I can't wait any longer to kiss you."

Hermione watched his lips while he was speaking. She really loved that mouth too much to stay angry, just because something inappropriate was usually coming out of it. She put her arms around his neck and pulled his head down to claim the mouth before he could say anything else.

He gripped her tightly, eagerly accepting her tongue's invitation to play. Their kiss became hungry in the empty classroom until...

"Out!" ordered McGonagall, returning for a forgotten book. She shooed the leaders of their houses from the room with a stern voice and twinkly eye.

"Draco," Hermione growled outside the classroom, frowning at his laughing face.

"What? _You_ kissed _me," _he pointed out, poking his fingers first at her, then over his pure, innocent heart. Her face slowly grew from a frown to Draco's favorite seductive smile.

"We need some time alone," he said softly. "It's a beautiful, sunny day. Do you really want lunch in the Great Hall, watching third years eating their pot pies with open mouths? Why don't we _ask_ (he knew to emphasize) a house elf to bring us something out on the grounds?"

She licked her lips and tilted her head and allowed herself to be led from the castle and down to the Black Lake.

Away from public, she became the love partner he'd come to know the last couple of weeks, straddling his lap and deluging him with kisses.

Their school robes effectively prevented them from going further. Whoever designed them didn't have the beating heart of a romantic or the libido of a young man with a hot girlfriend.

"Can we sneak away tonight?" he asked in a voice low with desire.

"Not tonight—I have a meeting. "

He grunted. "I wish I'd not given you the idea for that group. I never realized how many more Muggle-born and Halfblood males than females there were at Hogwarts, until you started meeting with them."

Just then a young house elf appeared with a tray of food. Hermione thanked him, pulling out one of the knitted caps that she had in her satchel, but he disappeared with an anxious crack before she could present it to him.

Draco chuckled at another thwarted liberation, though he loved that Hermione always tried. He moved behind her to nibble the back of her neck while she dug into the food. "Frankly, I question the pedigree of some of the members of your group."

"You think people are claiming to be less than Pureblood when they are?" she asked, her concentration divided between eating, conversation and maintaining some control while Draco continued his (ahem) attentions to her.

"Who could blame them?" he murmured against her neck. "You approach lads and ask, 'Would you like to come to SUPME?' I'd be willing to claim giant heritage if you did that to me."

She whipped her head around to protest. "I never said that to anyone."

He kissed her cheek and smiled. "Well, it certainly looks like more blokes were enticed to join. But I've been doing some recruiting of my own."

"Oh, you have, have you?" she asked with a giggle, returning to her salad.

She felt his nod against her neck then his hands on her back, rubbing in slow circles. "I'll bring three girls to the meeting tonight," he promised her.

"I missed three girls?" Hermione said with shock and a little disappointment in herself. She then felt his hand slide from her back to under her waistband.

"What did you say this is called...lastic?" he asked.

"Close enough," she answered.

"Hmm, well the Muggle who invented it is a genius," he said, pushing his hand further down.

"I said 'close enough,'" she stated in a warning tone.

The hand came out of her skirt and his arms went around her middle, just as her pre-set alarm sounded to let her know it was time to return to the school. Draco had a free period.

He turned her toward him for a slow kiss. "Pretty Mudblood," he purred, "I love you."

"Oh dear, I have to go," she said jumping up quickly. "I'll see you later."

She ran up the hill toward the school, while Draco lay down on the warm grass. "Easy, Ralph," he said contentedly. He looked down and saw he was well-camouflaged under his voluminous robe. Maybe the designer knew what he was doing after all.

* * *

The Society for Un-Pure Magical Endeavors met in a ground floor classroom after dinner. Hermione used her wand to shove the tables and chairs out of the way and produce some plush couches and chairs for the comfort of the members. Maybe Draco had a point, she realized, as 10 young men and one girl came in for the meeting.

"I call this meeting of S-U-P-M-E to order, she said. "Does anyone have any new business?"

"I do," chimed Draco, entering the room with his arms around three young Slytherin girls. "I have some new members for you."

Hermione rose to greet the girls and suggested they introduce themselves to the group. She took Draco's arm and led him to a corner of the room. "What are you playing at? Those girls are from your House and they come from magical families."

Draco crossed his arms, ready to defend his position. "Their parents are wizards, yes, but none of their grandparents were. Speaking as a Pureblood, I can assure you that we don't count them. They have the same issues as the fraternity you have here."

She looked over at the group then back up at him and grinned. "Perhaps you're right. I'll have to expand my own recruiting efforts to second-generation witches _and_ wizards."

His triumphant smile dropped.

"Thank you for bringing them. I'll see you after the meeting."

"Hermione," called Bradley Griffin, a fifth year from Hufflepuff. "Professor McGonagall's lecture today about different forms of mind control made me curious about hypnosis. As wizards, I'm sure we can all hypnotize each other, but while Malfoy's here, I'd like to see if I can put a Pureblood under a trance. What do you say? Are you game?" he asked Draco.

The triumphant smile returned, as he walked over to the younger boy. "Of course. I doubt that you can, but it will be amusing to see you try."

"Good," said Bradley. "Just sit in the chair here and concentrate on this," he instructed, pulling out a large locket on a chain. The club members gathered round as he suspended the shiny object in front of Draco's face and spoke in a sing-song voice. "Watch the chain. See how it catches the light. Follow its movements. Your eyes are getting heavy..."

Draco had smirked when he first sat down, happy to have an excuse for staying at the meeting, but now, he was beginning to feel very drowsy, his blue-grey eyes shuttering, harder with each second to keep open, until they closed and his head lolled forward.

Bradley's housemate Matt Logan, a chubby sixth year from America, patted him on the shoulder, acknowledging his success. "What are you going to make him do?" he asked in a low voice.

Several suggestions drifted around the room, such as making him strip or sing or combinations of embarrassing acts.

"No," said Lynette Pierce, a sixth-year Ravenclaw and the only girl to originally join the group with Hermione. "Let's make him confess something. Malfoy, how do you really feel about Hermione?"

Hermione stepped forward. "I really don't think..."

"I love her," Draco said in a sleepy voice, his eyes still closed. "She's ideal for me." Hermione stopped, her mouth hanging open, as the proclamation continued. "She's the perfect combination of beauty and brains, sass and..." The seductive smile that she knew so well crept onto his face. "Let's just say she knows how to make me happy."

The four other girls in the room sighed, wishing someone would say such things about them. Hermione felt her blush. "Bring him out now," she ordered Bradley. The boy started to protest, then saw the firm set to her jaw and complied.

Draco came out of his trance with the same smirk. "Sorry, Griffin," he said, rising from the chair and stretching his arms, "nice try though." The room tittered.

"Why don't you try, Granger?" he suggested, holding the chair for her. "It would be interesting to see if your superior brain can be controlled."

She shook her head. "I don't think that's..."

"Come on, Hermione," coaxed Logan. "You're not afraid, are you?"

"No, I just..." she began.

"Go on, Hermione," Lynette said. "Draco has a point. I am curious to see if any of us could put you under."

A chorus of dares and cajoling broke her resistance and led her to take the seat in front of Bradley. He began the same lulling tactics he'd used on Draco. Hermione's head rolled slightly as she followed the movements of the chain until her eyes closed. The trance awakened her ancestor witches.

Draco watched the process in disbelief. Since he didn't think he'd been hypnotized, he was surprised that Hermione could succumb so easily.

"Shall I ask her the same thing?" Bradley asked his audience.

"No," Lynette said. "I know what to ask her." She stood behind Bradley's chair. "Hermione, if the person you love is in the room, go and show him how you feel."

Draco sighed. If they wanted to humiliate him, this was their chance. Hermione had never said she loved him. He knew he hadn't convinced her yet that he was worthy of it.

_Go to him, darlin', _trilled Finola. _We know you want to._

Jean seconded the Irish spirit. _Yes, Hermione, we're all in agreement now, even Clothilde._

_That's right, _said the senior witch_. Ronald needs something besides you...possibly someone more experienced._

Hester huffed_. I don't understand why these children want a public demonstration. Does this generation have nothing but un-pure thoughts?_

_I never did, _said Finola with a wink in her voice_. _

Smiling and eyes still closed, Hermione rose and slowly glided to where Draco was standing, a curious look on his face. She jumped into his arms, wrapping her denim-clad legs around his waist

The group gaped as its leader and the tall blond man gave a master class in kissing, breaking one liplock only to begin another. Draco held her as if she were an answer to a prayer, then breathed her name.

"Draco," she responded with a whisper.

He finally noticed the stares of the others in the room and carried her back to the chair.

"Okay, I'll bring her out now," Bradley said, running a finger under his shirt collar.

"Wait. Is it possible to have her remember something later?" asked Draco.

The younger boy nodded. "Yeah, it's called a post-hypnotic suggestion."

Draco leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Hermione, the next time I make you want to cry out in pleasure, you'll tell me if you love me." He stooped in front of her. "Say that you understand."

Her eyelids were still closed, her mouth slightly opened, as it was when she slept. She slowly raised an arm and touched the side of his face. "Yes, Draco."

His passion for her had never been stronger. Where was that robe when he needed it?


	16. The Stone Queen

The sword swung at Ron's head and he easily blocked it with his shield, then stabbed the stone pawn in the chest with his own sword. Playing as the black bishop, he was now in position to take the queen. "Too easy," he said, as a knight for the house's force took an ineffectual position on the other side of the board.

"Too easy," he said again with a little disgust, when he approached the queen. Rather than swing at him to defend her king, the stone queen seemed to smile, as she dropped her head and knelt in supplication. She glided off the board, touching his arm as she went.

Ron shook his red head in disbelief. This was the strangest game of Wizard's Chess he'd ever played. Now he stood next to the king, who could take him, but that would put the monarch in check from Ron's rook, at the far end of the board.

"Too easy," he said for a third time, as the king brought his blade down weakly. Ron jumped off the board to avoid it, and the queen sidled over to him, as his rook accepted the sword of the vanquished ruler.

"Harry!" Ron yelled to his roommate, who walked into the room adjusting the sleeves of his robe. "Did you change the difficulty level on the chess game?"

Harry shrugged. "I might have. I was getting tired of hearing your rants when you lost. Thought your ego could use a boost."

"Why?" Ron asked with bitter irony. "Just because the girl I've loved for years dumped me for the vilest git we know? You think winning a simple chess match is going to make me feel better about myself after that?"

Harry puffed his cheeks and exhaled dramatically. He raised his green eyes to his taller friend's face. "No, but you're not doing anything else to make yourself better. So get dressed. We have to be at the Ministry in twenty minutes."

Ron rolled his eyes and huffed, crossing his arms, as if he'd rebel. "Why were we assigned as their security anyway? I hated them already, but now..."

"Do you want to explain all that to the Auror-in-Chief?" Harry asked, beginning to lose his patience.

Ron lowered his arms, as defeated as the white stone king. "No. I'll be ready in a few," he conceded, heading for the staircase.

He reappeared in minutes in his dress blue auror robes. It was his and Harry's turn for the security detail at a Ministry reception. Minister Shacklebolt was expecting a larger than normal turnout, as the keynote address on overcoming prejudices was to be delivered by a well-known former Death Eater.

Ron and Harry received their instructions, then waited for the speaker and his wife. They were surprised at Lucius Malfoy's appearance when he arrived. He seemed thinner and drawn. His complexion was sallow, rather than pale, and the eyes were red-rimmed. His silvery-blond hair was also thinner and lay dull and flat on his shoulders.

From the set of her mouth, the anxious darting of her eyes and her rigid posture, Draco Malfoy's mother just looked very stressed.

"Mr. Malfoy," Harry said without preamble, "I'm to escort you to the auditorium. Weasley will stay here with your wife until it's time for her to join you, just before you begin speaking. During the reception, we will remain close to the two of you, while you mingle."

Lucius managed a tight, pursed smile in acknowledgement. Shacklebolt and Cissy had told him earlier that it would be good for his image to be seen with Potter and Weasley, so he would tolerate it. At least the Mudblood wasn't with them.

He left with Harry. Ron moved to stand in the doorway, vigilant, despite his distaste for the assignment.

Cissy nervously paced around the conference table and chairs in the silent meeting room. Ron glanced at her. At Hogwarts he'd learned to accurately assess the shape beneath a witch's robe. He could tell that Malfoy's mum had long, toned legs, rounded hips and a dramatic curve at her waist.

She turned around and caught his scrutiny. Her dove-grey eyes frankly met and challenged his and he shifted his gaze back to the corridor.

"We both know I'm literally old enough to be your mother, Ronald," she said with a voice that was much more pleasant than he'd ever realized.

"You know my name," he remarked with surprise, turning his head to her again.

"Of course, I know your name."

"No," he shook his head, watching outside the door for potential threats as he elaborated, "You don't just know I'm a Weasley with red hair, you know who I am."

She snickered. "One of the two boys who escaped from my home after the crash of an irreplaceable magical chandelier, the ginger third of "Hogwarts' Heroes," and, most recently, the person who humiliated my son in a Wizard's Duel. Yes, I know who you are."

Ron couldn't keep a smirk from creeping over his face, before it returned to its now habitual frown. "Humiliation was mutual."

Narcissa tittered. "Do you mean his stealing the lady fair away from you?"

His head swiveled her way again. She took a step back in the face of his intense, stony glare. Her chest lifted and lowered with her heightened breathing.

Ron's eyes dropped to observe her palpitations and estimate the contours of her breasts beneath her robe.

Before he could respond though, there was a sudden flash, as a young, black-haired man appeared from under an Invisibility Cloak. "Death to all traitors!" he exclaimed. "Avada..."

"Expelliarmus!" shouted Ron, lunging at the man and bringing him to the ground. The bigger man grunted and tried to summon his wand, but it wouldn't respond to him. Ron did a quick body-bind spell on the assailant and called for back-up.

Narcissa was shocked by the would-be assassin's appearance. She took a residual hit from the thwarted hex that propelled her slight frame across the room, to crash against the wall and knock her unconscious.

She came to with Ron leaning over her. She blinked at the bright red hair and sky-blue eyes, squinted with concern in a strong, open face.

"Alright there?" he asked, scanning her for blood or obvious injuries.

She nodded and tried to rise. Ron put his arms around her to help her up. He stretched his hand in the direction of the expelled wand and it flew to him. He turned it over to the other aurors who entered the room and gave them a quick assessment of what had happened. They commended him on his quick action, and removed the Fallen Lord's loyal follower, leaving Ron and Narcissa alone again.

He helped the shaken woman to a chair and produced a glass of water for her.

"Thank you," she said weakly.

He sat next to her in a chair at the long table, sensing that she needed someone close to her to feel safe.

They were quiet until he received word that Lucius was about to speak and he led her to the venue.

During the reception in the Ministry rotunda, Ron and Harry stayed close to their charges, as Malfoy held court among the large number of admirers, who approached to thank him for his inspiring words.

Ron watched Narcissa, marveling at her smile and elegant pose. One would never have guessed that she'd just faced an assassination attempt.

He was called away to report to his supervisor, Paul Lees, and replaced by another auror. The new man was larger and more experienced than Ron, but Narcissa didn't feel that same security that she had with him. She glanced around the room anxiously for sight of the ginger.

He was in conference on the far side of the room with Lees and Shacklebolt. "He must have had inside help," Shacklebolt, a former auror himself, said, crossing his arms over his massive chest. "There's no other way he could have gotten in here with an Invisibility Cloak."

"Of course, Minister," said Lees. "We'll begin a thorough investigation tomorrow.

"Gentlemen," Narcissa began with a smile, interrupting the conversation. "I assume you're speaking about the altercation earlier this evening involving this brave, young man. While I would certainly agree that he deserves a commendation, I don't believe that making the details of the incident public would be a good idea. I know how Death Eaters think. They would view it simply as one Blood Traitor helping another against them. It would have a negative effect on your unity efforts, Minister," she concluded, placing her hand on his arm.

The Minister rubbed his chin in contemplation. "I believe you're right, Mrs. Malfoy. We'll keep it in house."

She nodded. "Also, I would like for my husband to be kept 'out of the loop,' so to speak. He is, after all, still in the process of reform. We wouldn't want to set him back, would we?"

"I bow to your wisdom and grace, Madam," said the minister. He bent slightly at the waist, a gesture copied by Lees.

"Thank you," she sighed with a subconscious dip of her long, golden eyelashes. "Now, if you're finished with my gendarme, I'd like to reclaim him. His replacement is totally inadequate, as you can see," she said, indicating the larger, more experienced man on the other side of the room, who was ogling a server with a tray of canapes.

"Certainly. Good work, Weasley," Shacklebolt said, clapping Ron on the back, as Narcissa took his arm and led him away.

"Thanks for that," he said to Narcissa, weaving through the crowd to the drinks table.

"Thanks for saving my life," she countered.

Ron shrugged. "Just doin' my job."

She looked at him while ladling herself a cup of pumpkin juice. "Well, I take it personally."

Lucius appeared at her elbow, Harry on his heels. "So, Cissy, I've charmed every woman here but you." He grinned wickedly. "Now, it's your turn. Let's go home."

Ron twisted with revulsion, telling himself that it was his general loathing of Malfoy, not the thought of the despicable man with his willowy, blonde wife, that caused his stomach to turn.

Narcissa smiled sweetly. "Of course, Lucius. You should thank Mr. Potter first for assuring your safety."

"Oh, right," her husband stammered. "Er, thanks, Potter."

Ron nearly burst out laughing, imagining the man's own stomach turning at having to observe pleasantries with someone he despised.

"And thank you, Mr. Weasley," Narcissa said, demonstrating the proper method of showing gratitude, with her hand held out for him.

He took it and she surreptitiously scratched the inside of his wrist with her fingernails.

He startled, then caught the gleam in her eye.

One Pureblood to another, he understood. She would use his blood and skin under her nails to open a floo portal for him in the fireplace of her choice. She was extending an invitation.

"You're welcome," Ron said with a grin and gleam of his own. He was accepting.

* * *

Back at home, Narcissa put Lucius to bed, with yet another excuse for why she couldn't join him, then hurried to her sitting room.

She smashed the vial into which she'd placed the traces of Ron in the fireplace, then recited a quick incantation over it.

She'd changed the room since Thomas Granger had been there, with most of the dark objects sent to Borgin and Burkes, and those that held sentimental value (gifts over the years from well-meaning but twisted friends and relatives) stored away under a locking charm.

She summoned refreshments from the kitchen, put silencing charms over the room, and waited for the young redhead, who surprisingly had her heart beating faster.

* * *

"You're Malfoy's mum," Ron said, standing uncomfortably in front of the hearth, following their shy greeting and her assurance to him that she was fine.

"I'm Cissy," she responded, walking toward him with a small glass of firewhiskey, "and you're the strong, young auror, who made me feel safer tonight than I have in a very long time."

He stared in her eyes, thinking about the auror training and what he and his fellow rookies had learned about Voldemort's depraved revels with his followers. "Men have hurt you, haven't they?"

She dropped her head.

"And your husband let them," Ron added, his voice taking on a harsh note, as he continued to watch her.

"It's..." she hesitated. "It's the price I pay for flirting with the Dark Arts." She slid her fingertips over her high cheekbone, as if brushing away a tear.

"My dad's always told us dark magic takes more from you than it could ever give you," Ron said in a grave tone.

Narcissa raised her head to reveal a sad smile. "He's a smart man. What would he think of your being here?" she asked, sitting down on the daybed, just to the right of where Ron stood.

He gave a nervous laugh. "Well, he wouldn't approve, but he's seen you. I think he'd understand, at least a little."

"More so than your mother," she said, smiling ruefully.

"Yeah," he conceded with a grin.

She looked down. "Draco would be horrified. I can see where it would be tempting, given your history with him, to tell...but you wouldn't, would you?" She raised her eyes and gave him an imploring, compelling look. He couldn't turn away from her.

He swallowed what he hoped was the last of his nervousness. "No. I'll never tell anyone."

He pulled his wand from his back pocket and sat next to her. "Hold your wand against mine," he instructed. She brought it forward and they held them straight up. There was an audible click, as they adhered to each other.

"I swear to never say a word to any soul, living or dead, about our time together," Ron intoned.

Cissy repeated the vow and the rigid sticks somehow twined around each other and shot red and silver sparks toward the ceiling, then dropped from their hands onto the bed. The oath sealed, the wands now separated.

"Now, all we can get from this is what we give each other," Ron said with effort, as he felt as though his tongue were growing and would soon overwhelm his mouth.

"Your vigor, honor and warmth," Narcissa said, laying the wands on a table next to the lounge and touching her fingertips to the top of his hand.

"Your experience, longing for me, and beauty." He lifted strands of her shiny, soft hair, as he leaned toward her.

Narcissa whispered, "I want your arms around me again."

"And I want you in them," Ron responded, joining her in an embrace and kiss. His heart raced wildly, as she responded, clutching him like a lifeline.

Never had he felt such passion. Never before had he had such a clear sense of someone's desire for him. Never had he felt so...essential.

He lay over her, shielding Malfoy's mum from the world that had hurt her.


	17. The Forgotten Arch

_There will be no memory of what has happened in this room, other than the introduction of the girls and this tedious discussion about the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy's extra burden on the members of this group._

Draco mouthed his spell silently, as he sat in the SUPME meeting and surreptitiously pointed his wand toward the door, tracing an arch under which everyone would pass.

He didn't have Hermione's qualms about altering memories for one's personal benefit, and her hypnotic acknowledgement that she loved him would not be gossip for the school, especially not before she told him consciously.

"I feel constricted by not being able to use magic around my Muggle acquaintances..." one of Hermione's Half-Blood admirers lamented, as Draco began planning the ideal setting for the declaration he wanted to hear.

_We'll sneak out to the cottage tomorrow. _It really wasn't appropriate to call it a shack anymore since he'd transformed it, with overstuffed furniture, a rocking chair, even ruffled curtains on the windows. (Who would have ever thought that Draco Lucius Malfoy would decorate with ruffles, but Hermione loved the quaintness.) On the second floor he'd created a loft, with a huge, satin-covered bed and roomy shower and bathtub, in a much more sensual atmosphere.

They spent every weekend there and any other time that they could manage to get away from school, and no one was the wiser, since the shack had burned to the ground last fall.

Draco still saw it as his most glorious magic to date. He'd created the fire to look as though it was devouring the building. He'd wandered around it like a young Nero, laughing at the crowd that had come out to watch from a distance, and he'd left nothing, but the appearance of charred remains. He'd done it all to have a secluded spot for himself and Hermione, if he could ever win her.

Now it was the perfect place for her to say for the first time that she loved him, and he wanted it to be real. That's why he'd been so precise in his post-hypnotic suggestion, emphasizing that she would tell him _if_ she loved him.

"I have this third cousin that's always picked on me. If I could just tell him to scare him..." another SUPME member droned on.

Draco rolled his eyes in impatience. He had a lot to do to prepare for the perfect evening tomorrow. He'd manipulated his way into the meeting but was now desperate to get out and desperate for these whiners to walk under that arch.

_We'll have dinner there. I'll look up aphrodisiac food in the library when I ever get out of here._

_"_I'm sure we all have situations in which magic would be beneficial outside of the wizarding community," Hermione said to the group, "but we must remember that a little bit of restraint is a small price to pay for the preservation of secrecy and the protection of everyone that we care about in this world." She threw a small smile in Draco's direction.

_I love you, Hermione, _he said to himself_. Now end this meeting and get rid of all of these people. _

_"_So if there's no other business..."

Draco glared at the fourth year Hufflepuff who looked like he was about to speak. The boy remained silent.

"...we'll conclude this session and meet again in two weeks."

_Finally! _He could sense the eagerness of the people in the room to leave and tell everyone about the snogging he and Hermione had done in front of them. _That kiss, _he thought to himself, his body reacting to the memory.

He heard no loud exclamations in the hallway as the students left the meeting room, so his charm must have worked.

"Draco, could you help restore the classroom? I need to speak to Lynette," Hermione said, walking toward the door and the invisible arch.

"No!" he shouted, but she was already outside the door. It was ruined. If she had only the same memories as everyone else, she might not have the recall of the post-hypnotic suggestion. Did she or didn't she? The cottage be damned, he had to know tonight.

He walked to the threshold and stretched his hand out over the arch to pull Hermione back into the room and into his arms. He waved his wand to slam the door shut, locked and muffled, and began a wreath of kisses around her neck. "I need you right now," he said huskily.

"Now?" she asked, not quite succumbing.

"Yes," he answered, pulling her along to the large sofa behind them.

"Here?"

"Yes," he said again, nibbling the top of her ear, something he knew made her melt.

She sank onto the sofa with him. "We might get caught," she said weakly, as her arms went around his neck and his wizard's hands deftly undid her jeans.

"I've put every privacy charm I know on this room," he said, in a muffled voice, kneading her lips with his and her thighs with his fingers, like a chef preparing his most sumptuous dessert.

_The oven is near baking temperature, all right, and there's definitely rising. Now all we need is the loaf—ahhh!_

The metaphor flew out of Hermione's head with her gasp. There were no coherent thoughts. Now it was just about the blond boy looming over her, asserting himself with a vengeance.

She closed her eyes and lolled her head, her hips keeping time with his ragged breathing and her frantic heartbeats.

"I love you," she heard him say over her moans and panting.

"I...I..." she puffed out, just before she lost all control.

"Say it," he groaned, pressing in at a near super-human pace.

"Ahhh ... Draco!" she sang out.

He pulled her to his chest and laid his head on her shoulder. Now she was in contact with all of him. It felt so good, basking in her euphoria, with his body enveloping her, but why was he so quiet?

Few men, Muggle or Wizard, would ever feel let down at hearing their name shouted in ecstasy, but Draco did.

_She didn't say it. _He was disappointed_. Why didn't she say it? _He was confused_. Even without the bloody hypnotism, if that's the way she feels, she should tell me. _He was incensed.

"Is anything wrong?" she asked in a small voice, feeling the tension in him.

"Hmph, when will it be enough, Hermione?" he hissed.

She pulled away and looked with worried eyes at his brows drawn harshly together, his usually pale face turned red in a scowl.

He began dressing. "When will I have done enough penance? I know I was a bastard when we were younger. I called you names, I tried to hurt people you cared about. I even once said I hoped that Salazar's monster would kill you. But I've changed...for you."

She bit her lip and stared as he rose, then paced.

"When will I have...adapted...enough that I'm worth you're saying you love me? Because I know you do," he said like an accusation as he stopped in front of her. "But you withhold that from me, teasing me with it," he spat out, "so that I give up more and more of who I am to try to be someone that you can love."

Hermione sniffled, still with her eyes on him, as she redressed.

"What do you want?" he demanded in a tight, strictly controlled voice, "a Weasley or Potter who knows how to shag?"

She looked down, hating herself for bringing on this outburst.

"I...won't...be that," he said with the clipped intonation that reminded her of his father's speech, "not even for you," he finished, standing over her with his chest heaving.

"You're wrong, Draco." She looked up at him through the blur of tears. "I..."

"You what?"

She gulped heavily and said nothing more.

"That's right," he sneered. "You have great compassion and empathy for others, but you can't handle your own emotions. You can't express them and you can't make others feel them."

Now he'd gone too far. She rose to her feet with a stamp. Emotions he wanted? Emotions he'd get!

He had his back to her though and didn't see the fire in her eyes.

"All this time I've tried to be good enough for you," he concluded with invective as he tied his shoes. "Maybe you're not enough for me."

She gasped as he stormed out. In his fury, he neglected to remove his enchantment, so that on the other side of the door after passing under the arch, he had no memory of his tirade.

Hermione slammed the door behind him. "He's..." she fumed, "he's...right," she realized, collapsing again onto the sofa, where she could smell his essence and still feel his heat.

"I spread my arms wide, but don't hold anyone close," she said with a whimper to the empty room, a classroom, where she'd learned so many lessons. But they hadn't hurt like this one.

And with the dissipation of the arch, she'd remember.


	18. Many Questions

Draco was more than halfway to the castle dungeons before he stopped in confusion. He had many questions swirling in his head, but the paramount three were: _Why am I so angry?...Why do I feel like I've just had sex?...and Where's Hermione?_

The green glow from the Black Lake that marked the Slytherin dorm shone in front of him and the white lights from the rest of the castle were behind him.

_The last thing I remember was that boring conversation about the Secrecy Statute in Hermione's meeting. I don't remember the meeting ending, or leaving, or seeing her again._

_Then why do I feel like I've..._ He moved his hand between his legs. _No, I don't just feel like it, I actually have...so where's Hermione?_

He ran his hand with exasperation through his thatch of blond hair. "Oh, no," he groaned aloud, "I didn't..."

He turned and headed up the stairs to the white lights of Hermione's room in the Gryffindor tower.

_Why? _he demanded of himself as he ran_._ _No wonder I'm mad; I'm disgusted with myself._

He flew up the last carpeted stairs to reach the entrance of Gryffindor's common room.

"What do you want?" asked the Fat Lady, glaring from her gilt-framed portrait.

He panted loudly. "I have to see Hermione."

"Hmph," the painted woman said, "she told me that she didn't want to see you."

Draco dropped his head in dejection. She knows. _Maybe she knows who, _he deadpanned, _because I don't have a bloody clue._

"Can you just tell her—"

"—Sorry," the Fat Lady said, turning away from him, "I'm not an owl."

He walked slowly down one flight of stairs after another, cursing himself as he went.

At the main corridor, he felt the breeze from the still open double oak doors, then sat down on the bottom step and produced a parchment and quill pen.

_Dear Hermione,_  
_Please forgive me for whatever I've done or said tonight._

_(_I can't tell her I don't remember. That's just...insulting._)_

_I wish I could tell you why it happened, but I honestly_  
_don't know. I just know how much I regret it and how_  
_much I love you._

_Hermione, the only other person I've ever said that to is_  
_my mother, and I can assure you the feelings are very_  
_different._

_(_He almost erased that line, then kept it in. He wanted her to understand how important she was to him._)_

_I could go on for feet of parchment about my feelings_  
_for you, but I want you to be able to read this before_  
_you go to sleep._  
_I promise that I will more than make up for it if you're_  
_able to forgive me._

_Please talk to me soon. I miss you already._  
_Draco_

He rolled up the heart-felt document, walked outside, and turned to his right, out of viewing range of the door. Draco tied the scroll to his leg, then closed his eyes in concentration, thinking _majestic...flight...mission_, until the transformation was complete, and he was his unregistered animagus—the great eagle owl that had delivered earlier messages to Hermione.

He quickly flew to the Gryffindor tower and into the open window of her room. There was a chatter of excitement among the other girls at the appearance of the recognized courrier, as he flew to Hermione, sitting up in her bed.

Draco could tell she'd been crying. _I'm so sorry, _he said again to himself, looking at her with eyes that hadn't changed their grey color.

"Do you have a message from him?" Hermione asked in an unusually cold voice.

He nodded and held out his leg for her to remove the scroll. She reached out to take it and he rubbed his head against her hand. Hermione looked at the owl in surprise.

She read through the letter and sniffed, then sighed, her shoulders drooping.

Draco still sat on her bed watching her, and the light pink that touched her cheeks, careful not to snag the coverings or hurt her with his talons.

She looked at the owl, certainly the cleanest bird she'd ever seen. He seemed to smell like Draco, but maybe that was just her guilt. "Are you waiting for an answer?" Her tone was impatient.

He shook his head no and lifted off, circling once over her bed, before soaring out the window.

Hermione picked up the feather left by the animal, almost a plaid pattern in black, brown and grey, and read through the letter again. Her feeling wasn't the anger that Draco would have expected, but remorse.

_It's my fault, _she said to herself. _All I had to do was tell him that I loved him and I couldn't._

_"_Always a bit thick about love,_" _she heard Ron say again.

She sighed in frustration. Why was she so reticent? Was it just because of the lukewarm relationship she'd observed in her parents? They had become increasingly distant with each other over the years, and that had affected their daughter's feelings about love and ardor.

She'd created a whirlwind romance for them when she'd concocted new memories, to give them a chance to rekindle their passion.

She remembered when she'd first found them, locked in a heady kiss, in front of their small house in the Outback. She'd cast the spell to restore their identities as Thomas and Meredith Granger, and watched as they'd pulled away from each other. She'd never seen them that close since.

_Am I too cerebral, like them, to sustain real love? _Draco had done so much for her, would she ultimately disappoint him?

She ran the silky owl's feather over her upper lip and under her nose, his scent seeming to emanate from the cilia. She rolled the feather in the parchment and laid them on her bedside table.

_Where are my witches when I need them? _she asked herself, snuffing out her candle and settling in for a fitful night.


	19. Cleansing

**_Your Mission, Should You Choose to Accept It: Alright, I'm excited for this one. I want you to write a shower scene. Yup! A shower scene! Here's the catch: No sex. In fact, no slash of any sort. Make this the most awkward shower scene ever. Or maybe your characters don't mind being in the shower together. Or maybe someone comes to kill them. Whatever! Make it work! One or two-shot.  
_****_This effort doesn't quite meet the criteria, since it's a chapter in an ongoing story, but it definitely inspir_****_ed it, which, despite its introduction, I can assure you meets all the other requirements._**

* * *

If anyone would have told Ron a few days ago that he would become involved with Narcissa Malfoy, that she'd moan when he touched her and reveal levels of sexual zeal that he hadn't realized he'd had, he would have said simply, "You're barmy."

Yet, here she was, in his room at the Grimmauld Street house, which he'd very recently given a sophisticated makeover, banishing all of his Chudley Cannons paraphernalia to his closet.

She straddled him, her hips bouncing in time with him, gasping wildly until she sensed that he was ready, then allowing herself a second, or maybe her third, release, then collapsing on his chest.

He laid his hand on the back of her head, as she began a trail of licks and kisses from his sternum to his adam's apple, where she bit, eliciting a groan from him.

Ron then rolled her onto her back and used his fingertips to follow her ivory curves.

"Cissy," he panted, as his heart rate was returning to normal, "you are just what the healer ordered."

She smiled up at him. "You've been good for me too, my gendarme."

He leaned closer to her. "Don't say it like that."

"Like what?"

"Like it's the last time." He raked his fingers through her hair, pushing damp tendrils from her face. "You don't want it to be over yet, do you?"

"No," Cissy answered, running a light hand over his sweaty back. "It's almost...cleansing...to be desired by a good person."

He guffawed in the hollow of her neck. "Well, as good, I suppose, as any bloke with a married woman, who happens to be the mother of his sworn enemy."

She slapped his hip. "You should get over your animosity towards Draco."

"Why?"

"Because it's obvious that Hermione couldn't have satisfied you for a significant period. She pointed a finger in his face. "You're insatiable, Ronald Weasley."

He grinned in response. "True. And the things I've learned from you...," he said, shaking his head slowly. "I went out lots after she dumped me, but no one made me feel like you."

Narcissa giggled. "That's because you didn't need a date; you needed a woman."

"Mmm, and what a woman," he said huskily, moving on top of her with purpose, his hand sliding up her leg. "I think it's time for a little more healing, don't you?"

* * *

_There they go again, _Harry grunted in disgust from his room on the lower floor. Privacy charms might block out noise, but couldn't do anything about the shaking of the rafters, as Ron pounded into whomever the energetic woman was. Oh well, at least he'd gotten over moping about Hermione.

And he'd made quite an impression at work lately, leading the investigation on the assassination attempt of Malfoy's mum. He'd uncovered the accomplice, a disgruntled employee in Magical Maintenance, who had secreted the invisibility cloak in a special compartment in an adjoining room.

Things seemed to suddenly be going so well for Ron, especially at work, in fact, that Harry had felt compelled to volunteer for extra duty, to maintain his position as top rookie.

It really wasn't fair to blame Ron for that though; he didn't know what an odious assignment Harry would be given...

"Any time that he's in the Ministry, Harry, he'll be your responsibility. I don't care what happens to him anywhere else, but I won't have a former Death Eater transformed to a martyr by being killed within these walls. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Minister," Harry said.

Shacklebolt leaned back in his chair, his patterned dashiki offering the only contrast in the drab environs of the beige-based office. "I know he's an insufferable ass, but he's the most charismatic of Voldemort's supporters, and his occasional presence here helps reinforce the idea of reconciliation."

Harry inwardly cringed, knowing what was coming next.

"And the visual of the two of you together, given your history—especially with your protecting him, showing good is ultimately stronger than evil—"

"I understand, Minister," interjected Harry. "Nothing will happen to him while he's here." Thus, he became Lucius Malfoy's permanently-assigned Ministry bodyguard.

Today, Malfoy wanted to avail himself of the Ministry's sports facilities and challenged Potter to a one-on-one contest on the Quidditch pitch.

"Well, it's good to see I haven't lost my gifts," said Malfoy, grinning broadly in his shiny, flushed face. "I knew a Gryffindor Seeker would be no match for an old Cup winner from Slytherin. I really flummoxed you out there, didn't I?"

"Actually," corrected Harry, rubbing the tender spot on his side, "you flew directly over me until you saw that I'd spotted the Snitch, then dove straight down on me, gouging me in the ribs and knocking me off my broom."

"A perfectly acceptable strategy in my day," Lucius said, his voice still high with excitement. "Your generation has become so soft, you've reduced the most noble Wizards' contest to little more than a Gobstones match—a consequence, I suppose, of having witches on your teams."

Harry refused to rise to the bait. _It's almost over; he'll be gone soon, _he consoled himself.

"Well, now a shower," said Malfoy, removing his robe with a flourish and heading for the adjoining locker room.

"What?" Harry yelped in surprise, following his charge reluctantly. "Wouldn't you prefer to hurry home and clean up there?"

Lucius turned to him with a look of disgust and sat on a bench to remove his shoes and clothes. "Really, Potter, is such a deviation from proper hygiene a product of your Muggle upbringing, or has Gryffindor generally sunk so low? I know Draco would never leave from a Quidditch match in such a state. Perhaps that's why your sole success with women is one milk-faced, impoverished Weasley."

He stood tall and naked, pulling out the string that held back his silvery, blond hair, and strode to the showers.

Harry stalked after him, fuming. "Ginny is my choice," he said emphatically. "But if I'd wanted other girls, I could have had them, sweaty or not."

"Don't flatter yourself, Potty," Lucius said with a smirk, standing in the tiled enclosure.

"...Well..."

"Well what?" Harry responded, hunching his shoulders and turning out his palms in confusion and impatience.

"What I hold in my hands, Potter, while impressive and powerful, will not, unfortunately, activate the water. I am a wandless wizard, and therefore, require the assistance of those who, in the past, weren't fit to utter Aguamenti in my presence. Now, if you would be so kind..."

Harry's green eyes glinted with anger and mischief, as he aimed his wand at the shower head, causing a beading spray to push its way out of the nozzle.

"Yes, yes, the icy blast of retribution—quite predictable, Potter," Malfoy said, nonplussed. "Now adjust the temperature to a more honorable level, please. A bit more heat...just a tad more...no, no that's too much..."

Harry's arm became tired from holding it in the same position as he sought the optimum combination of temperature and spray to satisfy the finicky patrician.

"There, that's adequate," Malfoy finally said after Harry's third sigh of exasperation.

The younger man lowered his arm in relief.

"Oh, Potter, fetch my soap from my bag."

"There's soap right there," Harry protested, indicating the dispensers on the side wall.

Lucius turned a disdainful eye on him. "My _own_ soap, Potter. It's an exclusive formula."

"Of course," Harry said snidely. Then under his breath, he snarled, _Accio Malfoy's bloody exclusive-formula soap._

The vial of scented, blue liquid flew into Harry's hand and he passed it on to the despised man, who accepted it with a nod.

"And Potter, could you nudge the heat again? I like it warmer when I wash my hair."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Harry noted, as he again employed his wand to accommodate the man's fickle wishes.

Lucius snickered in response. "I've accepted my situation. I have less wealth and prestige than I did before the Dark Lord's return. My son, for whom I had such expectations, is hopelessly besotted with that Mud—" (Harry glared.) "—forgive me, Mug-gle-born Granger girl."

Harry stood uncomfortably at the threshold, on the lookout for anyone who would tease him unmercifully, as well as for possible threats to the most charismatic former Death Eater.

Malfoy closed his eyes and massaged the lather into his scalp. "My lovely wife has appeased me for months, with promises that I would have a new wand soon, only for me to learn, very recently, that I must show proper obeisance to the Minister and participate in his ridiculous 'Magic Knows No Status' campaign, before I may be allowed to possess one again."

He opened his eyes and dropped his arms, looking unknowingly comical with his sudsy helmet and shriveled, nude body. "So, yes, Potter, I take my small pleasures, such as making the celebrated 'Chosen One' do my bidding, where I can find them."

Harry squinted. Did he really expect him to feel compassion for him? How much pleasure did the Muggles at the International Quidditch Tournament feel when Malfoy and the other Death Eaters tormented them? Or Hagrid when Malfoy had him sent to Azkaban? Not to mention Ginny, used by Voldemort in his Riddle incarnation when Malfoy slipped the teenager's diary to her in her first year.

No, he'd get no sympathy from Harry Potter...never, and Harry would hate every moment of this assignment and resent anyone who had a part in it.

Malfoy rolled his eyes as he stood directly under the shower head to rinse his hair. "You actually do look terribly ragged, Potter. Do you want your superiors to see and smell you in that condition?"

Harry self-consciously raised his arm to sniff under it. "The other showers are out of order."

Malfoy pointed out the other two shower heads in his stall and continued his lavations.

Harry considered for a moment, then gave in to the temptation and common sense , shedding his clothes and commanding the shower head opposite Malfoy to pour out it hottest possible water, the way he liked it, turning the space into a steam bath.

Ohh, it did feel good. He kept his eye on his protectee while he summoned his own soap from his locker.

"Well, that's enough," said Lucius, just as Harry was beginning to lather himself. "Turn it off, Potter; the Minister is expecting me."

In disgust, Harry shut off all the water and watched as the dripping Malfoy stood on the robe that Harry had left on the floor.

"Oh, Potter, my wife has a Witches' Auxiliary meeting here tomorrow and the Minister wants security for her as well. I suggest that you ensure that the other milk-faced Weasel isn't here for that purpose. He struck me as more attentive than protective during their last encounter, wouldn't you agree?"

Revelation came to Harry with that statement and he stood stock-still in the steaming shower room.

Malfoy raised an arm and, in an oily voice, grinning at Potter, he summoned a towel for himself, then padded back to the lockers.

Harry picked up his wet robe and followed him to the larger room, mentally connecting the dots. He twisted the robe tight to wring out the water, realizing that Ron _could _be blamed in part for what he'd endured.

He squeezed the damp garment more tightly, imagining it to be the neck of his infuriatingly satisfied best mate. "I'll kill him," he promised himself as he rejoined the insufferable ass, "I'll kill him."


	20. Dream Date

_They're both so miserable; why can't we help them? _Finola asked her sister witches.

_Because Hermione has to figure this out for herself_, Jean explained.

_I don't know that we've been that much help anyway, _Hester opined. _What have you ever done with your sniping but keep her awake at night?_

Finola answered passionately_, We helped open her heart and made her defend her love._

_True, _Clothilde spoke for the first time. _She never would have allowed herself to feel anything for someone so different from herself without our influence. Forgiveness became personal, not just a noble concept. And Draco allows her to relax; she's happy with him._

_Was,_ pointed out Hester. _How happy does she look now?_

_Our energy is waning; can't you feel it? _Jean asked.

Her sisters were quiet. _Hermione is the brightest witch of her age. We have reason to be very proud of her and trust her to make the right decision, _Jean concluded.

_Maybe just a little dream would help, _said the romantic Finola, with her thick brogue.

In a rare moment, Clothilde agreed with her. _It should be a very special dream, our last action for her...for them._

_Just don't make it too smutty, _suggested the Puritan Hester. _Loyalty's important too. _She sighed, remembering her husband, who had offered no protest when she was drowned in a witches' scourge in the Colonies.

_Yes, _Jean added her contribution. _And it should highlight Draco's more honorable traits; it should show her if he's worthy, _she said, thinking of young Tommy G. Her return to the wizarding world had prevented her from having to spend her last years in the confinement of a care home, but she regretted that she'd never seen her favorite Muggle again, and that he had come to resent all that magic took from him. Even with that, through Hermione, she knew him to be a wonderful, strong, compassionate man.

_But it should also make clear that Hermione has responsibility for their love too. _Clothilde had learned that lesson well in her three marriages.

_Yes, yes, all of that, _Finola conceded, waving her arm as if she still held her honeysuckle branch wand, _as long as most of the time is spent in each other's arms (and naked,) _she added under her breath.

* * *

Unaware of the ladies' continued interest in her and feeling quite abandoned, Hermione attempted to come to terms with her emotions, passions and reservations.

Draco watched her constantly but made no move to talk to her, realizing he had to give her time, even if it was killing him.

She would look at him out of the corner of her eye, noticing during meals that he too seemed to have lost his appetite, and throughout the day, that his step was plodding and lethargic. Of course, other girls tried to...console him, when it became apparent that he and Hermione weren't together anymore, but his lack of enthusiasm for any advance quickly dissuaded them.

Hermione knew that the torment had to stop, for both of them, but what should she do? Before, she would have talked to Ginny about it. But this wasn't a subject in which Ron's sister could be objective. In her desperation, Hermione sneaked out of the castle, using the passageway from the Room of Requirement to the Hog's Head tavern. From there, she Disapparated to her parents' house...and found them in flagrante.

"What's wrong, Myna Bird," Meredith asked when she'd put on a silk dressing gown and joined her daughter on the new heather tweed divan in the living room.

Hermione rested her head on the silken shoulder. "Oh, Mother, I'm so confused," she whimpered. "Draco wants me to love him; I think I do, but what if it doesn't work out? What if we become...stale with each other? I don't think I could bear it."

Meredith patted Hermione's head with her right hand, on which glowed a moonstone ring. "There are always ebbs and flows, honey. If the current stayed strong all the time, you'd both drown."

Hermione smiled at her mother's uncharacteristic sustained metaphor. "And you and Dad are in a flow now?"

"Well, he's still the most considerate, adorable man. Look what he gave me."

Hermione held her mother's fingers to catch the ring in the best light. "Wow, that's really beautiful," she said, eyeing the stone carefully. Moonstone, she knew, could renew passion and ensure love. "When did he give it to you?"

"The day you returned to school," Meredith answered, with the radiance of a well-satisfied woman.

Hermione smirked. _That considerate, adorable hypocrite. _He'd been so appalled at the idea of Draco's giving her a magical bracelet (which it wasn't) then he gives her mother one of the most powerful aphrodisiacs on earth—and during a full moon, when it's at the height of its potency. When had he learned about the magical properties of moonstone?

"You've always been careful and planned for every eventuality, dear," her mother said as Thomas came into the room to join them, dressed just a little more formally than his wife, whom he put his arm around as he sat next to her.

"But you can't plan love," Meredith continued, smiling at Thomas and holding her daughter's hand. "All you can do is enjoy it."

"And don't forget why you wanted each other in the first place," Thomas interjected with a wink.

Hermione smiled at her parents, more comfortable and happy with each other than she'd seen them in years. She hugged them both and left them in their candle-lit, domestic bliss.

_Well, there's the overwhelming physical attraction, _Hermione said to herself minutes later, after returning to the castle and stealthily making her way through the dark, silent corridors to the tower.

_I wonder what he's doing now,_ she continued, as she studied some of the garish paintings that studded the stone walls. She had to admit that Muggle art was generally better than that produced by witches and wizards, maybe because things were just harder for the Muggles. It gave them a more soulful outlook.

Of course, Draco's art, much of which now decorated the Shrieking-Shack-slash-love-nest, was quite a bit better than most of what she saw in the castle.

She'd permitted one portrait of herself. The rest was his lovely landscapes and character sketches of strangers from all the fantastic places he'd been. He had spoken of returning to them—this time with her.

_Has **he** been able to sleep this past week?_ she asked herself, climbing the last set of stairs to reach the tower.

She gave the password to a disapproving Fat Lady. The common room was dark, save for the fireplace. It lit the windows on the back wall, where Hermione thought that she saw an outline of a large bird—an owl? But by the time she'd walked over to the window, whatever she'd seen was gone.

She tiptoed up the echoing stone stairs to her dorm room, returning to her list of reasons for wanting Draco Malfoy.

_He's brilliant and entertaining; he understands me. He has a temper, but so do I. At least, they don't seem to clash. We get up in arms about different things._

In her bed, Hermione took the scroll of his written apology out of the drawer in her bedside table. She opened it to read yet again, and the feather from Draco's owl that was rolled up in it floated to her lap. Outside the window, she thought she heard a flapping sound, like wings, but when she turned in that direction, she saw nothing.

Shaking her head in exhaustion, she returned the letter and feather to her table and lay back on her pillows to sleep.

* * *

_"What do you think?" Draco asked, as he and Hermione Apparated into the bright, open room with the ruffled curtains on the windows. She walked toward the wall of bookshelves and saw copies of not only most of her favorite books from the Hogwarts library, but a good collection of Muggle literature as well._

Hermione turned in her bed, remembering the happy, expectant look on his face, as she next wandered over to the rocking chair by the fireplace and saw the knitting basket, filled with skeins of wool in different colors, sitting next to it.

_She sat on the large white and green striped sofa in front of the windows and turned to the whitewashed end table to sniff the vase of spring flowers._

_"It's lovely," she sighed, looking at him in wonder._

_His relieved smile seemed to dim everything else in the room. "Are you hungry? The kitchen is fully stocked. I can make us lunch."_

_"You cook?"_

_He answered with the Malfoy smirk. "One of my multitude of talents that you have yet to sample."_

Hermione moaned softly in her sleep at the thought of him then removing his robe.

_He wore a pair of slacks and a v-neck sweater. She walked over to him, conscious of the hollow in his throat, from which exuded the most wonderful, musky scent._

_She could feel her heart and tremors in her legs, as she moistened her lips and said in what she hoped was a seductive voice, "I'm not hungry just yet. Why don't you show me more of your decorating talents upstairs."_

_He grinned and swooped her into his arms and carried her, like a blushing bride, to the second floor loft, and straight to the bed._

She smiled faintly behind her closed lids, as she recalled the heat, caresses, tasting, whispers and exaltations that went on between them for hours.

For the first time in years, Hogsmeade denizens heard shrieks from the site of the now-burned shack.

"Draco," she whispered, sinking deeper into her covers as her dream, the product of her ancestors' combined efforts, continued.

_"I knew we'd be this good together," Draco said throatily, as they lay cuddled like two spent and happy spoons._

_The red satin sheets soughed beneath them, echoing their every movement._

_There was an abundance of mirrors in different shapes and sizes on the walls, all framed in antique silver. "We'll never look better than we do now," he reasoned. "Let's see it."_

_The thick, patterned carpet muffled sounds and, as Hermione discovered when she went to the marbled loo, appeared to swallow her feet._

Decadent and delightful were the words that came to mind whenever she thought of the cottage, or Draco.

She awoke with a heavy sigh. The dream had been wonderful, but she'd never doubted the aspects of Draco that it had highlighted. She knew he was romantic, thoughtful, playful and adept as a lover, but would he always expect their time together to be monumental? Could he even understand ebb and flow?

She closed her bed hangings and fell back on the mattress with a loud, frustrated huff. If he can't accept the quiet, unexciting periods of a relationship, would she disappoint him and would he, in turn, break her heart?

She began to feel muggy in her velvet cocoon. She tossed off her covers and sought a comfortable position, as her eyes became heavy again...

Draco's face and voice soothed her for the rest of the night, saying such things as, _You're the nicest thing about me...Hermione, be safe...I would never have left you...Help me convince her that I love her._

* * *

She awoke feeling more confident, happy and unburdened than she had all week. She hurriedly dressed and flew down the stairs to the Great Hall. It was French Toast Saturday and she ate with gusto, then, disregarding all of the eyes that followed her, she headed across the sun-lit room to the Slytherin table.

As usual, Draco had been watching her and stood as she approached.

"Would you like to go somewhere with me today?" she asked him.

Her pulse quickened and insides jumped, as if Imperioed by his slow grin and sparkling, silver eyes.

"Anywhere," he answered.

Her responding smile was timid. "Good," she said, pushing back a molasses curl and dropping her eyes. "I'll meet you at the front door in half an hour...?"

"Alright, Hermione."

_You can't plan love's path; you can only enjoy it...Don't forget why you wanted each other in the first place. _

Hermione turned her parents' words of wisdom into a refrain, her mantra, as she hurried back up the stairs to prepare for her day with Draco.


	21. Heroes

Just like when he was angry, Ron's ears also reddened when he had a good laugh. Enjoying a drink after work with some other aurors, they took on the appearance of chili peppers, as he and his cohorts howled at Harry's expense.

"So not only did he have to escort Malfoy all over the building and watch him in the shower," Lee Jordan said, "but when the bugger finally left, he had to go to the infirmary. Malfoy cracked his ribs when he beat him in Quidditch."

A chorus of hoots and guffaws answered that last piece of information.

Ron chuckled, contributing to the hilarity, "And there's nobody who hates Skele-Gro more or who's had to take it more than Harry. I can't wait to "rib" him about that tonight."

The group replenished their mirth and drinks and moved on to other topics.

Ron took a sip from his glass, anticipating his evening, not only for having a go at Harry, but also Cissy was coming to see him.

He shifted in his chair as he thought about the still svelte and exciting older woman. They teased each other about the age difference and her being "Malfoy's mum" but didn't allow those things to affect them during their vigorous and playful copulations.

He was in the kitchen at Harry's house, eating a sandwich, when he heard the front door slam and Harry bellow, "Ron!"

"What's got you in a knot, mate?" he asked, strolling casually into the game room and dropping crumbs from his enormous hero sandwich. "I heard about your day with Malfoy," he said with a snicker. "Is he going to be a regular fixture at the Ministry?"

Harry stood with his fists clenched, his torrential green eyes looking up into Ron's happy blue ones.

"Maybe he wouldn't be there so much," Harry sputtered in his ire, "if you weren't banging his wife."

Ron's smile dropped. He sat down in one of the two wingback chairs facing the cold fireplace. "What are you going on about?"

Harry stalked around the large, brightly lit room with all the accoutrement to keep the young, modern wizard entertained. He snatched up a beater's club from the Quidditch game and looked in his friend's direction, then carefully set it back in place.

Ron continued to eat his sandwich and drink his butterbeer with an air of nonchalance that amplified Harry's exasperation.

"Don't try to deny it, Weasley," he finally said, walking back to where Ron sat. "Where do you think I've been this evening? Reviewing Floo Network logs. I found that you went to Malfoy Manor the night after the reception at the Ministry."

"So what of it?" Ron said with a shrug. "The woman had just been blasted by an attempted Avada that I diverted, remember? I thought I should see that she was all right."

"That would've been very conscientious and considerate of you, Ron," Harry said snidely, taking the twin chair that was angled from Ron's, "except that you didn't leave by Floo until 2 am."

Ron created a licking fire with no heat so that he could concentrate on the flames. "It's none of your business," he said in a deep, slow voice.

Harry's eyes went wide with disbelief at the tacit confirmation. "Are you mental?" he demanded of his roommate, who still stared impassively at the counterfeit flames. "Malfoy's mum? In my house?" he added with near revulsion.

"She's a woman," Ron answered in the same flat, cavernous tone.

"There are a lot of women, Ron," Harry pointed out. "Witches and Muggles. Why do you feel the need for the wife and mother of two of the biggest bastards in either world?"

"Maybe that's why," Ron said with another shrug of his shoulders, still not returning Harry's stare. "Maybe she likes me because I'm not like them. And did you say anything like this to Hermione when she took up with the ferret?"

Harry opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. No, he hadn't said anything to Hermione when she first confessed her feelings for their old enemy right after Christmas. Nor had he told Ron about it, leaving him to find out publicly for himself on Valentine's Day. Harry stood and walked around the room which he and Ron had had so much fun putting together, banishing all the heavy Black family furniture to attics, various friends in need of a statement piece, even something Hermione had called a "tag sale." They'd made a couple hundred quid from that.

Ron had been typically good-natured about incorporating the Muggle elements, such as the giant television and vintage pinball machines, that Harry had always wanted. _He's really a good friend, _Harry said to himself with a twinge of guilt.

He flopped down on the large, leather sofa, creating a cacophony of creaks from the material and his own grunts, as he lay down, turned, took off his shoes and tried to get comfortable. "Why her?" he finally asked when he and the sofa had achieved an accord, and he rested with an arm pressed on his forehead.

"What, isn't she hot enough for you?" Ron asked with a little life coming back into his voice.

Harry exhaled. "No, Ron, I remember the dorm room talk when all of us lads agreed that Malfoy had the best-looking mum in the school. I also remember that we said none of us would ever want to touch her because she was the mother of the worst prat in school.

"I'm not in school anymore," Ron said, taking mental inventory of the yellows, oranges and more subtle colors in his fire. It kept him calm and prevented him from lashing out at his best mate. "I don't care what anyone thinks about what I do," _or who, _he added under his breath.

"Do you think you love her?" Harry asked from the sofa, trying to understand.

Ron rolled his eyes. "I didn't say that. I like how I feel with her, how she..." He sighed and rubbed his forehead with his crumb-coated fingers. "What do you know about rejection?" he sneered. "My sister's been loopy about you since you rescued her from the Chamber of Secrets. I could never impress Hermione that way, but I did save Cissy."

"Oh, hell, Ron, being a hero is good for a while, but that fades. Before long, you forget a birthday, or talk with your mouth full, or you're too tired to give her what she wants." He puffed the air from his lungs. "I don't...get...what it is between you, but I know it has to stop."

"Why?" Ron asked defensively.

Harry sat up. "Because I think her husband knows or at least suspects."

There was a flash of red as Ron jerked his head around toward the source of that statement. "What makes you think that?"

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "Something he said today about how you were more attentive than protective, and I should make sure you're not at the Ministry tomorrow when she's there for a meeting."

Ron bounded from his chair. "He knows? Harry, she could be in danger!"

Harry shook his head. "We know from our training on the Death Eaters that they wouldn't have been monogamous. They set the pattern for their marriage years ago."

"But you said—"

"You have to end it, Ron," Harry concluded, rising from the sofa. "You have to before someone gets hurt. Because one thing you can be damn sure of—it won't be Malfoy."

With his innate sense of the dramatic, Harry exited the room with that statement, leaving a reflective Ron standing with head down, his back to the cool fire.

* * *

"He's right; we do need to stop," Cissy said when in Ron's room later that night. She was nude, standing at one of the two windows on the far wall. The bed was situated between them and the room was dark, except for a few candles and the moonlight through the windows. Her pale skin seemed to absorb all the faint light, giving her a spectral, untouchable look, even after just having shared a shag with her ginger host.

"But we're not ready to stop," Ron protested from the bed, his eye glued to her.

She turned toward him with a little smile. "No, we're not. But we have no choice. Our hand has been forced."

"Cissy," he said, rising to stand next to her, "What if he..."

She put her arms around his waist and rubbed her head over his lightly-freckled chest. "Lucius won't hurt me," she assured him. "We understand each other, especially since he's no longer drinking and is more like his old self."

Ron cupped one side of her face with a gentle hand. "But he made you..."

Cissy returned to the bed with a small, tinkly laugh. "Don't be naïve, young man," she said huskily. "It wasn't always unpleasant."

Ron sighed in resignation and moved back to the bed, softly rubbing her arm. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to be a wife and mother," she said with a shrug of her moon-lit shoulders.

"How will I know if you're all right?" he asked her.

Cissy smiled. "I would expect you to make it your business to know, my gendarme," she said, "sneakily, of course."

She leaned back in his arms. "I'm more worried about what you're going to do."

"What do you mean?" he asked, squeezing her tight and burying his face in the perfume of her hair.

Malfoy's mum sighed, knowing this was the last time she'd be with the strong, sweet young man who made her feel both safe and desirable. "You're ready for a new phase, Ronald." She bent her head back so that they could smile at each other in unhappy acceptance, before giving him the same advice she would to her son, "I don't just want you to have a lover; I want you to have a life."


	22. Ebb and Flow

The grassy areas were bluish-green and the ideal height and lushness, thanks to Hagrid and his magical pink umbrella. The stones in the castle walls and walkways reflected the bright sun so that they looked like large, misshapen jewels. Everyone who walked out the front doors involuntarily gasped in amazement at the perfect day.

Draco, however, seemed immune to the lure of nature. He stood in the middle of the foyer, his eyes trained on the great staircase, awaiting his personal light. And then he saw her. Hermione descended the stairs slowly, with an anxious, bashful smile.

Draco felt the darkness in his mind and heart lessening with every step that she drew closer. "You look very pretty," he said when she finally stood next to him.

She was wearing a casual spring dress in a water-color floral pattern that fell just above her knees, accentuating her coltish legs. She'd put her hair up and wisps that escaped the 'do softened her face.

"Thank you," she said through her nervousness. "You look nice too."

Draco's loose, knee-length shorts and button down shirt, open to the top of his chest, and sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showcased the sleek definition of his limbs.

"Shall we?" asked Hermione, holding out her hand. He took her delicate fingers in his and they walked out the front door together. Draco smiled as she too gasped at the best day of the season.

They walked toward the front gate of the school. "Hermione," Draco finally said, "does this mean you forgive me?"

"For a fit of temper?" she said lightly. "I'd be a terrible hypocrite if I couldn't."

He stopped short and she staggered back to his side, like a stretched rubber band returned to its natural state.

"No," he faltered, "for the...Don't make me say it, Hermione."

She looked up at him in confusion.

He rubbed the back of his neck, rolled his eyes, made sure there was no one within range of his voice and choked out the statement, "For having sex with somebody else the night of your meeting."

"You what?"

Draco looked around again, then through clenched teeth, asked, "Why are you smiling?"

She shrugged a shoulder with a nonchalant expression. "I'm just wondering how you could have practically embedded me in the sofa after the meeting, then had the strength to shag someone else."

Draco's mouth fell open in surprise. "It was you?"

"Who else?" she confirmed with a laugh, resuming the walk.

"I...had no idea," he admitted.

"Hmm," Hermione said, "I think somebody in the meeting might have done some sort of memory charm. I'll have to talk to them about that. I think we've been a bit too casual about something that could have serious consequences."

"Agreed," Draco nodded. "Anything that would cause me to forget making love to you shouldn't be allowed." He stopped short again, just outside the gates, and tugged, so that she bumped into his chest and he wrapped his arms around her in a loving vise.

"I can kiss you now?" he asked, shutting down her thought process with the spears of his steel grey eyes.

She managed a nod, then felt her heart jump to her throat as his lips fell softly on hers. His tongue was like a feather, lightly tickling her own. She closed her eyes, perfectly willing to live and die in that Utopian state.

"Have you missed me?" he asked, moving his full, gentle lips around her face.

"A bit," she said, recovering enough of her senses to tease him.

He snickered over her mouth. "A bit, eh? I've missed you a lot. It's been a week since I've held you or felt you...this time."

He cradled her face in his hands, the optic spears now blunted with melancholy. "I've had to miss you too many times. Don't do this to me again, Granger. Can't we resolve whatever it is that holds you back, holds us back?"

She took in the pinpoints of color refracted in his platinum blond hair and skin and the barely pink lips that she wanted again. "That's why I asked you to come with me," she said, lifting on tiptoe so she could reach his mouth, unheeding of possible witnesses to her naked desire for him.

His arms tightened around her again. Their heart rates rose together in glad reunion.

"I hope wherever we're going isn't public," Draco said in a husky voice.

She smiled, catching her breath, "Well, it's somewhat public."

"Fine," he said, playing with her strands of hair, "Then I'll be somewhat under control."

With a simper suggesting tolerance, she grabbed his hand and thought of their destination. They knew from experience that Apparation while kissing was possible.

The only thing that could have distracted Draco away from her was the sudden snap of salty air and rumble of surf. His feet sank in dunes of pale sand. Hermione quickly pulled away from him and began chanting.

"Where are we?" he asked, slipping off his shoes. The granules of sand tickled his bare feet.

"Shell Cottage," she answered, moving to another spot to mark their perimeter.

He marveled at her intensity as she cast her spell. He wondered about her designation of the beach, since the only house in view was some distance from them and barely visible. Prominent among the sands and dry stalks of sea grass was a small area of colorful flowers. Draco walked toward it and realized it was the burial place of his first confidant and friend.

He knelt before it and said in a choked voice, "I'm sorry, Dobby."

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at the towheaded man, as she completed their private beach. She went to join him and noticed a small bowl of rice pudding with raisins and currants next to the rock that bore the free elf's name. She looked at the bowl in confusion, knowing well the restrictions against producing food from thin air.

"I know a restaurant where it's on the menu," Draco explained. "I summoned it from there."

That made sense. Hermione nodded in understanding.

"Who planted the flowers?"

"Luna," Hermione answered. She saw him wince at the name.

"And the headstone?" he asked haltingly.

"Harry."

Draco sighed and walked away from the tiny grave to look out to the sea. Hermione was silent at his side.

"I try to put the past behind me," he said with gallows humor, "but that just gives it the chance to bite me in the arse." He sat heavily on the dunes.

Hermione felt terrible. It was a mistake to come here, the place to which she and the others had come after escaping from Draco's house.

She had hoped that bringing him here, as she'd promised, to Dobby's grave would open his heart, the way she'd seen it that day when he'd spoken affectionately of the elf. She'd thought that would make her more comfortable telling him what she wanted to tell him.

She saw Draco's fingers digging into the warm sand, as if searching for the bottom of it.

He sighed again. "I should have done something. I wasn't there with them long but when I was...Not even Weasley could stand seeing them suffer. Of course he and Potter had to rescue everyone." He turned his head to the side and watched the sand sift through the funnel created by his fist. "No wonder everyone prefers them."

"Not everyone," Hermione said, moving to kneel in front of him. "I know all three of you very well and I prefer you." She lowered her eyes and took a deep, brave breath, then looked into his sad face. "I love you, Draco."

She gulped, waiting for response. After an awkward silence she dropped her head again, her voice repeating in her mind, with the sounds of crashing waves and Draco's indifference. She felt a finger under her chin lifting her head. The face she saw had less strain but was just as serious.

"Are you sure?" Draco asked her.

She bit her lip and nodded. He leaned closer. "Say it again."

Her eyes concentrated on his lips that neared her own. "I love you," she repeated breathily, any further comment cut off by their kiss.

He moved closer, her back against his chest and nestled her between his upraised knees and arms. They were quiet with their thoughts and the ocean's song until he finally spoke.

"When did you first know?"

She ran her fingers over the muscles of his forearms. "When I came to your house. It was just to shut up your cheer section, but the surge I felt through my body when I saw you...It wasn't just sexual, though there was that," she said with an earthy chuckle. "There was such a sense of relief in being with you again. I knew all of that couldn't just be infatuation."

"Why didn't you tell me then?" he asked, running his lips across the back of her exposed neck.

She shifted slightly to catch a glimpse of him. "Why didn't you?" Hermione turned back to view the cresting waves and the seagulls who played with them, lifting just out of their reach. "I thought of you as my weakness."

"Shouldn't your love be your one weakness?" Draco asked, nuzzling the side of her face.

She shrugged. "That's a magical luxury. I've grown up around Muggles where couples are inter-dependent. Sharing strength is more important.

He raised his head and joined her in contemplation of the sea. "And I can't give you that?"

"Well, she said with a tilt of her head, "I doubted it, until you told me that you wouldn't have left me and gave me your memory, where you showed such courage and feeling. I started thinking then that I could rely on you. I almost told you on Valentine's Day."

"Before we were so rudely interrupted," he said drily.

She smiled and nodded.

"Then I was back in competition with Weasley," he added with a growl.

"Nooo," Hermione chided him. "I needed time to think of us revealed to Ron and everyone else. The anonymity of Madam Puddifoot's was fun, but I didn't only want something clandestine with a bad boy."

"Alright," he sighed with relief, "then why didn't you tell me when you came back to Hogwarts?"

She sighed in hesitation. "You might think it's silly."

"I'm sure I will, but tell me anyway," he said, pushing his hand up past the hem of her skirt.

In a rush she admitted, "At that point I thought it would be anti-climactic."

Draco's hand stopped. "What?"

"I was afraid if I told you after all that time that you'd realize it didn't mean that much to you after all."

He huffed. "Hermione," he said, raising his head as if looking for an answer in the fluffy white clouds, "how can someone so smart be—"

"I know, I know," she interrupted. "I'm thick about love."

"Yes, you are. It's all I've wanted to hear for months."

Hermione dropped her head in embarrassment.

He turned her face to him. "Hermione-my-bonny-Jean-Granger, I love you as only a Slytherin can—slowly, reluctantly, then completely and irrevocably." The declaration ended with another breath-taking kiss.

She looked up at him and answered, "I love you as only a Gryffindor can—whole-heartedly and proudly."

With that she jumped up and moved awkwardly across the dunes toward Shell Cottage, where she raised her arms and waved her wand.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked, leaning on his arms and stretching out his legs.

She walked back to him, noting that he seemed to be one with his environment, his light coloring blending in with the sand and sunshine.

"I lifted the privacy charms so people can see us," she explained, adopting his posture. "That's Ron's brother's house. I don't care if Weasleys or anyone else see us. She laid her head on his shoulder. "I'm proud to be with you."

With that gesture on her part, Draco knew he needed to make one of his own. "You know," he began, "I'll always have some secrets. It's just my nature. I promise they won't be big and I'll tell you one when it's time, like now."

He rose to stand over her and slowly raised his bent arms, thinking _majestic...flight...show her._

Hermione gasped as her lover suddenly changed into an owl, the owl that had delivered messages from her lover. "You..."

He returned to his human form and his seat next to her.

"You..." she said again.

"I wanted to see your reaction to the letters I sent you. Are you all right?" he asked, seeing that her mouth and eyes gaped and that she'd yet to say anything beyond the single syllable.

She nodded, closing her mouth, but the brown eyes were still wide, like the expanse of beach. "Is it that easy to be an animagus?"

"Not easy," Draco said, "but even that Pettigrew rat could do it," he reminded her. Her adventures with Ron and Harry were now common knowledge in school.

"Hmm," Hermione said, getting that look of _challenge accepted _in her eye. "My patronus is an otter."

Draco burst into deep laughter. "An otter? Waddling up the great staircase?" He held her close, beginning a verbal seduction. "Think, Hermione," he wooed while brushing his lips over her, "an animal like you—clever, beautiful. How would you come to me?"

She felt her head swim and body shiver. How could she sneak down to him? What kind of animal met his description? What would she be?

"How can you come to me?" Draco continued, "brilliant, beautiful, crawling in my bed." He felt her hand on his leg then the sensation changed.

Instead of a pretty brunette, there was a small Brazilian Rainbow Boa snake, crawling along his leg, its iridescent bronze skin streaked by colors of the spectrum.

Draco leaned back and moaned, as the vixenish viper coiled around his thigh, then slithered inside his shorts. His eyes glazed as the snake extended her exploration, before peeking her head out of the loose waistband. The boa shimmied under his shirt and all over his chest, grazing its fangs on the surface before coming out of the collar of his shirt.

"Change back," he said hoarsely, "give me something to hold onto."

Hermione lay next to him on the sand, panting from the thrill of her first transformation. "I can't believe I did that. A snake?"

"It makes sense," he said, leaning over her on one elbow. "You're patient, methodical and your strike is fast and lethal. I just hope you're not venomous," he chuckled, showing her the pink scratches on his chest from her pointed snake's teeth.

She giggled beneath his lips until their kiss became more intense, demanding.

"Hermione," he said with raspiness in his tone, "this is a lovely spot, and I thank you for showing me Dobby's resting place, but even a secluded beach isn't private enough for what I have in mind."

She smiled in agreement. "Let's go to the cottage," she said, hooking her arms around his neck. "It's my turn to make you shriek."


	23. Malfoy Men Know

With a heavy sigh, Narcissa left her elegantly appointed bedroom and strode across the floor to the staircase, her feet soundless in the thick pile of the oriental rugs. She glided her fingers over the priceless furnishings and art work that she passed. Narcissa used to take such pride in these things but now...

No, she insisted. She didn't love her gendarme. Yes, she felt protected when she was with him and even when she wasn't. He was sweet, fun and charmingly innocent—such a wonderful change from her days of being a favored Death Eaters' entertainment.

She slowly descended the stairs. _How had he allowed it? What was he doing during those times? _The questions had been her constant companions for years. How could her husband have continued to tell her that he loved her, even as he escorted her to one degrading event after another?

She had borne it; she was a Black, after all. Regulus had given her strength. He was so young when he died, not much older than Draco now, yet he was always so reassuring, because of his own great confidence in himself and their chosen path to follow the Dark Lord.

Narcissa had been devastated when she'd learned of her favorite cousin's disappearance-presumed-death and had almost lost the baby she'd just learned that she was carrying.

Regulus had given her respite. In her excusable, delicate condition, (the near-miscarriage, not the pregnancy) she had avoided any more physical contact with Voldemort's favored supporters, until she'd advanced to the stage where she wasn't considered as desirable.

In the year between Draco's birth and Voldemort's defeat at Godric's Hollow, she'd used nursing, post-partum depression, even the rare occurrence of colic for a witch's newborn, anything she could imagine to keep from having to participate in the revels.

Lucius had encouraged her subterfuge, wanting her to say with their son, while he was out doing the Dark Lord's gruesome bidding.

Narcissa now walked through the ground floor rooms, summoning early roses from the gardens for the vases, a task that she didn't entrust to the house elves, who didn't have her sense of beauty or style.

She had, of course, mourned the Dark Lord's demise with her husband, sister and friends, while secretly breathing a sigh of relief that she'd never again be touched by random Death Eaters.

She'd dedicated herself to being a doting mother, reinforcing her husband's ideas about the importance of class distinctions.

Voldemort's return hadn't worried her. After all, it was thirteen years later. Who would want her when there were the fresh ingénues (perhaps a bit flashier and coarser) available?

Everyone. After all, who would want a vulgar, young girl, when there was the glamorous and haughty Narcissa Malfoy to be put in her place, with no infant to distract her?

She'd regrettably dug out her old moonstone ring and borne it again, this time without the support of her long-dead cousin, and the questions had returned.

_How could he allow it? _she asked herself again, with the last vase filled. _Where was he during those times? _She headed to the breakfast nook between the large, recently refurbished formal dining room and the kitchen. _How could he still say he loved me..._

"Good morning, Cissy," Lucius smiled from his seat at the head of the table, one at which he'd not been awake at this hour to inhabit for months. He was clean-shaven and looked like his old, dynamic self.

"Good morning, Lucius," she said with a gasp, sitting at the other end of the small, square table and pouring her tea. "You're not usually up so early."

"Yes," Lucius said. "I've missed seeing how beautiful my wife is in the morning, and this would be my only opportunity, since we haven't shared a room in months."

Cissy dropped her eyes to the highly-polished surface of the table and composed a bright, cheerful face in its reflection before lifting her head to her smirking husband. "Well, dear, our schedules are so different now. I didn't wish to disturb you with my early rise."

"Well, you needn't worry about that," Lucius said, leaning against the curved back of his chair. The candles in the wall sconces and on the table and sideboard illuminated his new resolve. "I shall join you for breakfast from now on, so there's no reason for you not to return to our bedroom."

"Oh," Narcissa stammered, "well...I..."

He smiled at her discomfiture. "But tonight, we should go to Paris—your favorite hotel."

"The Sorcière?" Cissy couldn't hide her delight at the suggestion. She did love that place, with the floating beds and fairy chambermaids.

Lucius's smile widened as he walked toward her. "Yes, the Sorcière. It's been too long since I've romanced you," he said, touching his fingertips to the smooth taper of her neck.

Narcissa looked up in confusion. Was this the old Lucius, the man who had charmed her from her first day in Slytherin?

He took her hands and lifted her from her seat. "You go upstairs and pack and I'll instruct the servants to return your things to our bedroom after we've gone. There's no reason to keep a separate room, since you'll no longer be meeting any teen-aged aurors, correct?"

Her grey-blue eyes were as wide as the early morning sky. Lucius had that square-jawed look of finality that told her there'd be no further mention of the subject. If she didn't comply, she'd soon hear of the grisly death or baffling disappearance of Ronald Weasley.

"Correct, Lucius," she said quietly, returning his kiss to her cheek, then leaving the room to pack, too secretly distraught to enjoy the beauty of her surroundings or the fragrance of the roses.

Lucius watched her go with admiration. Still an elegant, exciting woman, the envy of all they knew. Oh, others might have had her for an hour or so, but she was his.

His fingers clenched around the new moonstone ring in his pocket. He'd planned exactly how he'd present it to her, sitting together on the floating bed, with the full moon shining through the large windows.

Yes, she was his. And Malfoy men knew how to hold onto what was theirs.

* * *

The large cluster of tall evergreens at the entrance of the Forbidden Forest seemed to divide in two, as the half-giant lumbered through, his eyes raised to the sky and the amazing sight—a large eagle owl with a snake circling its neck.

Rather than heading to the owlery, the bird flew toward Hogwarts Castle and a seldom-used terrace facing the woods.

The owl landed and appeared to dip its head for the snake—shiny brown with rainbow streaks? No snake from around here, said the animal expert—to uncoil and drop lightly to the cobble-stoned patio.

Hagrid continued to watch the creatures' unprecedented actions, until the owl and snake became a young couple, kissing passionately.

The blond boy, he could tell, was Draco Malfoy and the girl, with her arms wrapped tightly around him, pressing herself against him and lifting her leg to rub over his, was...Hermione!

What was she doing? Hagrid moved just a little closer, using his giant-proportioned sight and hearing to learn.

"What will I do without you for two weeks?" Draco asked. Hagrid could hear the frustration in the boy's tone, then he heard Hermione's small laugh.

"What do you mean? We'll see each other every day."

"Yeah," said Draco, running his hands down her back to rest on her bum (_Hermione's bum, thought Hagrid viciously) _"but we have NEWTS. Tell me you won't be studying every waking moment until your last exam..."

_Shouldn't everyone? _Hermione asked herself, as his lips brushed her temple.

"...then reviewing your notes and essays, which I'm sure you've kept..."

_How did he know that? How long had he watched her, _she wondered, lightly scratching his back with her fingernails_. _

"...to see how many questions you didn't answer perfectly," he concluded, giving her a little room in his arms so he could see her answer.

She lifted a shoulder, "That's why we're here."

Hagrid nodded in approval. That was more like Hermione. He heard Draco's breathy answer.

"Not me. I'm here for you. I almost didn't stay at the beginning of term when I saw you weren't here. That's why I spent so much time working on the shrieking shack. I wanted it to be a place you'd love, and maybe love me too. Now how long do I have to wait to have you back there again?"

"Well..." Hermione hesitated.

"That's what I thought," said Draco. "I'll be insane without you and I just got you back and it doesn't seem to bother you at all."

Hagrid gnarled his lip in revulsion.

"Of course it does," said Hermione soothingly, curling her fingers in his hair, "but I have to concentrate on what I need to do." Hagrid saw the gleam in her eye, like sun shining through coppery fall leaves, as she added, "If I should become too stressed though, I hope you'll let me use you for relief."

Her oldest friend at Hogwarts was aghast at her forwardness.

"Use me," Draco intoned. "Take flagrant advantage of me."

Hagrid scrunched his face, as if he had a bad taste in his mouth.

Hermione sighed. "But we shouldn't think of this as a separation. We've talked about being a strength for each other. This can be a real test of that. We can study together and when we're finished and we've helped each other do our best, then we can be together at the cottage."

Draco grinned. "Can I massage your leg under the table in the library?"

"Only if you respect my boundaries," Hermione answered with a giggle.

Hagrid wondered why that was so funny to them.

"Alright, two weeks of hand-holding, boundary-respecting and studying, and then you're mine." Draco resumed kissing her and Hagrid growled, thinking of poor Ron.

"We'll sleep together every night," Draco said, nibbling her neck, "and I'll kiss you first thing every morning."

Even from his distant vantage point, Hagrid detected a change in the couple's actions and intensity.

"One last time," Draco whispered hoarsely.

"Where?" Hermione asked.

Hagrid saw the boy lift her with more strength than he thought he'd have and carry her with her legs dangling to the back of the terrace and a small alcove.

"Yes?" Draco asked, now panting with need.

"Yes," Hermione answered.

"Mute us," he requested in a gravelly voice.

Hagrid observed some momentary fumbling and then...he turned his head quickly. Draco had her against the wall and was...Hagrid didn't want to see that, but he did want to talk to Hermione. He pulled a knife and a rough wood carving out of his pocket and began making some cuts. Like someone flying over a train wreck, he was unable to keep himself from glancing out of the corner of his eye at the couple.

He couldn't hear them, but could tell from their expressions and strength of their thrusts that they were grunting and gasping and soaring, much like when they were in the air earlier.

He wondered about Hermione's, er...getting scraped, then noticed that Malfoy had his hands behind her, cradling her.

"Good," he snarled, returning to his handiwork, "the little centaur should be scratched up...or worse." He looked over again and saw Draco's head thrown back and a look of completion on his face, as he mouthed, _Hermioneee! _Then the young man dropped his forehead to her shoulder and breathed heavily, while she ran her fingers over his back.

"I love you, Draco," Hermione said.

"And I love you," he answered.

There was more fumbling, then she pushed them out of the alcove. "I'll meet you in the library after dinner," she said, playfully.

"Right," he answered with a smile and last kiss. "I'll be the one with the hands."

He watched her gingerly walk down the stairs on the right side of the terrace, conscious not to put all of her weight in her step.

He grinned and ran down the left side of the porch for the back entrance to the dungeons, repeating one of his father's favorite maxims, "Malfoy men know how to hold onto what is theirs."

Hermione's careful stride and happy humming came to an abrupt halt when she heard behind her, "Wot d'ye think yer doin', Hermione Granger?"

"Hagrid," she said, turning around, "I'm so happy to see you. Where have you been?"

He frowned and answered, "Spend most a' my time in the forest with Grawp now. Draco Malfoy, Hermione?"

She set her jaw and looked at him with defiance. "Yes, Draco Malfoy. I love him."

"But he—"

"I know everything he's done, Hagrid, and I know how he feels now."

"And ye remember who his father is? He tried to kill yer best friend. How can ye break bread with him?"

She lowered her head. "Hagrid, I don't expect you to understand, but—"

"I unnerstand, Hermione. Ye think yer in love. But it's not just about the two of ye. Ye take him; ye take his famly. Are ye ready fer that?"

He turned and headed back toward the forest. Hermione sighed and took one regretful, painful step. She returned to her modified tiptoe and headed again for the main door, thinking Hagrid had a point. Maybe she should use that time in the library, when Draco had to be restrained, to talk to him about their families.


	24. Food for Thought

_**a/n—In reading this chapter, I suggest that one not take anything too literally, except for Ron's feelings**_

Cinnamon red hair, hot cocoa eyes and cherry tomato lips. Harry continued his culinary assessment of his girlfriend as she ate her dinner, since he couldn't take his eyes off of her to eat his own.

He was so glad that she'd agreed to the intimate supper in his room rather than having dinner downstairs. The seating area where he'd set up the table was at the right end of the room that took up most of the second floor of his Grimmauld Place house. The bed was on the other side. Between were the massive fireplace, his wardrobe and a large empty space for practicing physical defensive techniques from his auror training.

Angel food skin with strawberry blush...

Suddenly the chandelier over their heads began clattering and their plates moved slightly. Even the items in his wardrobe rattled because of the vibration.

"Harry, what is it?" Ginny asked in surprise, since there was no sound of disturbance.

Harry rolled his eyes. He really needed to move to another room...or another floor. He'd been so excited about this evening. He'd gone to Hogsmeade to pick up Ginny, when her school had let out the students for the final excursion before the end of term. Even Hermione had been there, taking a short break from her marathon NEWTS studies and her now almost constant blond appendage, who she'd said had dashed home to have lunch with his mother.

It had been almost like old times with Potter, Granger and Weasley, though this redhead was much more cuddly than the original.

Speaking of which..."Harry, what is it?"

Harry huffed in exasperation. "Your brother weakening the floor."

"Ron? What's he doing?"

Harry plunged his fork into his partridge pie. "My guess is missionary," he said sardonically. "I usually can't feel it when the girl's on top."

Ginny's mouth and eyes gaped. "What girl?"

"Hmm, he's about halfway through the A's now," Harry said, "so possibly an Amy or Anne..."

Even in the subdued lighting of the bedroom, that familiar blazing look crossed Ginny's face and Harry felt his heart skip.

"Are you telling me that my brother, Ronald Bilius Weasley, who was too shy to tell Hermione that he fancied her all those years is now—"

"—Romeo with a wand, yeah," Harry answered with just a hint of envy.

"Ugh," she opined and stood, walking toward the door. "I'm going up there right now and—"

Harry caught her. "No, don't. It's therapy for him, Ginny. He's working his way through losing Hermione and Mal—"

He stopped himself and a smile, warm with desire, lit his face. "Besides, if you go up there, you'll just make him angry. What you want is to make him...uncomfortable, thinking about his little sister...That is," he said, slinking an arm around the curve of her waist, "I know how competitive the two of you are..."

"Harry Potter," Ginny gasped, tossing the flames of her red hair, "are you suggesting that we—"

He clapped his hand on the back of her head and felt as though his hand was scorching in those flames. His mouth pressed on hers, as if juicing the cherry tomato lips.

"Ginny, I love you," he said with difficulty over the pulsing in his throat and his constricted breath. "Please, stay with me."

"I have to go back to school. I'll be in trouble."

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Harry said in a voice softened by her skin as he nuzzled and cajoled. "I'll make it worth it to you," he promised as he pulled her closer and backed his way toward the bed on the opposite wall.

"Harry," Ginny whispered as her head fell back and body arched, giving him freedom of persuasion. "I can't..."

"Please," he said again, the sound in harmony with the strum of her heart strings.

Ginny's eyes closed and her mouth went dry. She sought Harry's mouth to provide hers with moisture. She fell back on the bed with a sigh, the cinnamon hair splayed around her, like rays from the sun.

To Harry, she was the sun, source of light and heat, Vitamin D for his soul. "Do you want to practice your muting charms?" he asked in a low voice, lightly touching the face of the sun.

She smiled. "No, let him hear. Like you said, I'm competitive. And I declare Weasley War."

He answered her smile, again feasting on her beauty, feeling hungrier than he ever had in his life.

* * *

Ron snored happily, with the Italian lovely in his arms, reliving the experience that was only muted to the outside. He gloried in every moan, gasp and Ronaldo that had come from her until she finally...

"Ohhh, Harry!"

Ron awoke with a start and saw that Amoretta was still sleeping, a light ruby smile gracing her face. Then what had he—

"More!" he heard screamed from beneath him, "yes, yes!"

His muscles tensed. He could feel the hairs on his arms prickle as they stood on end. He fidgeted with a slight feeling of revulsion.

"Ahh, Ginny," his best friend cried as he and Ron's sister began a chorus of disgusting noises, that finally ended after a loud, dual howl.

Ron lay in bed with the señorina and his wand, wondering why his efforts to silence the couple downstairs wouldn't work.

Now he was awake, not busy and alone with his thoughts—a combination that he tried to avoid as much as possible.

Amoretta sighed with contentment in her sleep and he kissed the top of her head. He enjoyed being with her, but she didn't occupy his mind when they weren't together the way Hermione and Cissy still did—nor did any of the other women he'd had in his room since the last night with the older woman.

She'd said she wanted him to have not just a lover, but a life. He did, one that wouldn't disappoint him, composed of work and women.

Some might think it was a little shallow but...

_Are there worse ways to live, Weasley, _one might wonder.

_Why yes,_ he would answer.

· You could pine for years in daily frustration, trying to deny your feelings for one of your best friends, and being too damned cowardly to act on them.

· Or you could come to the realization that even if you and that friend loved each other, that didn't solve all of the problems that ultimately made you unsuited for each other.

· Or you could watch that girl that you still loved choose the person you most despised over you.

· Or you could finally find some satisfaction with another woman, with the bonus that it was the mother of the most despised, only to have that taken away from you too.

Overall for now, he preferred to keep his life simple and active, thanks for asking.

"More, more!" he heard again from downstairs.

"Great," he snarled, still trying unsuccessfully to shut out the noise. "My sister's a screamer."

"More," cooed Amoretta, waking and speaking softly, in total contrast to Ginny, loudly discovering her sexual appetite.

"Ronaldo," Amoretta purred, as she mounted him and laid a foundation of kisses over his torso, her dark brown waves of hair carressing him as she went. She smiled down on him, the embodiment of Venus.

He grinned in return. Yes, there were worse ways to live, and he had been through a number of them. This was better.

That was his last thought as he let his wand fall to the floor. Accepting his sister's challenge, he began a counter-strike in Weasley War.


	25. The Student Professors

**_Your mission, Should You Choose to Accept It: Make an AU of your preferred fandom into a setting where the characters are either teachers or students. If your fandom is already in the school setting, no need for the AU. Can be one-shot or multi-chaptered. 5000 words or less per chapter. (What can I say, I love challenges)_**

"I don't know how you talked me into this," Draco griped, standing in the empty classroom with Hermione.

The bank of windows on the far wall provided light and irritation in equal parts, as he'd much rather be out there, enjoying the late spring weather, than still in a classroom at the end of the school day.

"I didn't talk you into anything," Hermione remonstrated. "I volunteered because I thought Professor McGonagall wanted me for this project, and the next thing I knew, your hand was up as well.

"Yeah, well, I saw the gleam in Longbottom's eye, as though he was excited to work on it with you. I couldn't have that," Draco explained, putting his arms around her.

"Neville? Please," Hermione said with a tilt to her head and a "Be serious" tone in her voice.

"That's just what I thought," Draco answered. "How could he even think I'd let him have the chance—"

"Don't be silly," she interjected. "You _must _get over the idea that everyone is as enamored of me as you are."

He growled in response. "I'll believe it when I don't see it."

Hermione rolled her eyes and Draco's notorious half-smile appeared. "Then again, there are worse things than being alone with you in an empty room."

"Alright, that's enough," she admonished, slipping out of his hold. "We have work to do. And to make it easier for you, I'll make myself less appealing."

"Oh," he said, leaning back on the teacher's desk, "this should be good."

Using her wand, Hermione placed warts all over her face.

Draco shook his head. "No, I still want you."

She elongated her chin and crossed her eyes.

"You're hideous and I still want you," he chuckled.

In exasperation, she turned from him and concentrated on the features she wanted, then spun back around to reveal an approximation of the smiling face of Narcissa Malfoy.

Draco let out a gasp. Across the room, his mother laughed with Hermione's voice.

"You're a sick woman," he snarled, walking toward her, "and you might have just scuppered our sex life for good."

She laughed again. "There's still the matter of my attraction to you. Hmmm, let me see," she teased, walking around him, like an artist preparing a model. With her mischief at its peak, she used her wand on the handsome face before her.

"What have you done to me?" he asked with a voice altered by the changes in his nose and mouth.

With a big grin, Hermione produced a hand mirror for him to see.

"Really, Granger?" he said with a new scowl, "Potter?"

"I've always though of him as a brother, nothing more," she explained, still smiling.

Draco took a deep breath and dramatically closed the now-green eyes and pointed a finger at the face he couldn't see. "When we return to normal..."

She kissed his cheek. "We'll jump that cliff when we come to it. For now, let's get to work."

The next morning the third year students from Slytherin and Gryffindor arrived for their first lesson to find their Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom transformed into the Black Forest. Standing in the center of the room were Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger.

"Welcome," said Draco, motioning the young students inside, "to the site of the greatest duel in recorded history, the battle between—"

"Dumbledore and Grindelwald?" guessed one of Draco's pretty SUPME recruits, who aspired to be just like Hermione.

"That's right," said her role model encouragingly. "Five points for Slytherin. Now if you'll all find a place against the wall, we have a chocolate frog card for each of you..." She and Draco used their wands to distribute them.

"Where's Professor Sojourn?" asked raven-haired Patty Parkinson. (Would she have a lot to tell her big sister!)

"Unexpectedly called away," Draco said dismissively. "Now, let's get on with the lesson. The duel happened when?"

"The fall of 1945," piped up a tall, blonde Gryffindor, who Draco only knew as Serena.

"Correct," said Hermione, pinning back her golden-brown hair. "Five points for Gryffindor."

"Why?" asked the taller boy standing next to her.

"Why what, Karol?" asked Hermione.

Karol Steiner scanned his card with his somber brown eyes. "Why did it take so long for Dumbledore to challenge him? Grindelwald had already caused a lot of terror and death in that region, a lot of misery for people, like my family. If Dumbledore could have stopped it sooner, why didn't he?"

Hermione hesitated. While everyone knew of the two men's early friendship from Rita Skeeter's exposé on Dumbledore, Harry had chosen not to make public what he'd learned from the deceased headmaster, in the dream he'd had when Voldemort had tried to kill him in the Forbidden Forest.

"Sometimes, it just takes a while to do the right thing," Draco said in a thoughtful voice.

Hermione turned her head to him slowly, surprised at his defending Dumbledore.

"There can be divided loyalties," he continued, addressing himself to the younger boy. "You might think someone else is more suitable for the task."

Hermione studied his profile as he spoke, feeling a warmth surge through her, remembering his memory that he'd given her of his sacrifice for her.

"Sometimes," he concluded, turning toward her, " your courage has to come from someone else. But when you take the action, you can be prouder of yourself than you've ever been before."

It was as if they were again the only two people in an empty room, as Hermione stared at Draco and said softly, "But no matter the source of your determination, it's you who performs the deed. And if it's done sincerely, it can change you, change people's perception of you, and lead to something wonderful."

There were about six feet separating them. They closed the distance with the intensity of their gaze, though not with their bodies, as several "Ahems" erupted among the students, watching the couple around the faux foliage and rocky terrain.

"Right," Draco said, recovering first, "Student Professor Granger and I will demonstrate some of the tactics and spells that it says on your cards were used during the duel. See how many you can identify, then you can practice too."

"We've enchanted the room so that no one's actions can hurt himself or anyone else," Hermione explained. "So, Student Professor Malfoy, if you're ready..."

She flicked her wand and Draco flipped up and over in the air.

"Levicorpus!" shouted the students, laughing at the dangling Draco.

"Why didn't that end the fight right there?" a pudgy Slytherin asked.

"Because Dumbledore knew how to counter that spell," said Draco, righting himself and lighting back on the floor. "Take that, Grindelwald!" he said to Hermione, throwing a green beam that momentarily stung her shoulder.

"Stangem minimus!" exclaimed the group after looking at their cards. "Except Dumbledore's was maximus," added the SUPME member.

"Correct, Lila. Now, watch our wands when we strike. If we stab, it will affect a particular place on our bodies, whereas a sweep or flourish will have a more general impact," Student Professor Granger explained, making the same kind of slashing motion that Ron had used on Draco in their Valentine's Day duel. He staggered back a little.

"Stupefy," the students easily identified.

"Alright," Student Professor Malfoy said, smoothing his hair and the front of his robe, "you get the idea. Now half of you have a card with a name that will appear when you touch it with your wand. That is your partner, and don't worry. The cards are charmed not to go to the person with that name. So, reveal your partner, and prepare to make history."

Hermione smiled, pleased with how much fun he seemed to be having, despite his protests from last night. They mingled with the students, evaluating their techniques and offering suggestions and praise, until the ninety-minute block was almost over.

The student professors circled each other, now more flirtatious than instructive.

"Gellert," sang out Draco, "you've never looked lovelier."

"Wish I could say the same for you, Albus," Hermione responded in mock censure. "The years don't seem to have agreed with you."

Their circle seemed to become smaller, as they naturally moved closer together and the younger students crowded around them.

"And how did Dumbledore finish off the Teutonic Troublemaker?" Draco asked the class at large.

"Body-bind," the students responded.

Draco flicked his wand over his head, as if making a lasso, and pointed it at Hermione, who went rigid. He grasped her just as the chimes to end the period rang in the castle. Their hearts beat against each other; their look was longing. They controlled their breathing and desire with effort and managed to say in tandem, "Class dismissed."


	26. Alert and Alone

_**a/n Thank you to my guest reviewers, whom I can't acknowledge any other way, and those following the story, whom I simply failed to thank personally in the last two weeks of computer obstinancy.  
**_

It was a miserable decision for both of them, but she wanted more of him than he had to spare, than he could ever hope to offer her, so this was their final goodbye.

He used the pads of his thick fingers to create a memory of her face—the silky, sable eyebrows...long, damp lashes...a few tears resting on her cheekbones, like raindrops on the statues where he'd first found her, in Rome's wizard community.

She fisted his cardinal-red hair, wanting to give him one more chance. "Ronaldo," she said on a plea.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, brushing her tears away and cupping the side of her face, as he lowered his to meet it.

They shared a last kiss, full of passion, regret, memories...everything but love, and the beauteous Amoretta disappeared with a sigh.

Ron dropped the arms that had cradled her and returned to his bed. From his pile of pillows, he could make out objects, shadowy and ghostlike, in the still-dark room.

In the far left corner in front of a window was a leather chair and ottoman. Cissy had sat in the chair one night while he'd given her his first pedicure. He'd perched on the ottoman with his back against the chair and she'd rubbed his head and back, offering him praise, while he painstakingly painted and they'd had a rare conversation about nothing and everything.

On the wall across from the bed was his large dresser, where Hermione had kept her clothes. He'd watch her dress, amused that she was shy to be naked in front of someone whom she'd seen almost every day since they were eleven. Or maybe that was why she'd been so timid. Was she like that now with Malfoy?

He looked toward his bathroom on the right side of his suite and smiled, recalling her ginger step as she'd approached the bed, then flung off her towel when she'd jumped into his arms. At the sound of her giggle, he turned his head.

Just to the left of his bed was the window where Cissy had stood, her skin absorbing moonlight like a sponge, until she seemed to glow a silvery shade, like the sun bringing a tan to lesser mortals.

The window panes had gone from black to a matte grey color, as the sun teased its debut, preparing to overtake the sky.

Ron huffed in irritation. He hated being alert and alone at this time of night/day. He was aware of the creaking sounds of the old house, as if it was stretching and yawning after a good night's sleep.

He rolled with a moan and bunched the pillows in arms that needed and wanted something else. Hermione had never given him back his heart and Cissy held a similar claim on his body. He'd give up a limb to be with either of them.

"Damn the Malfoy men," he muttered, clenching his eyes tight and putting a pillow over his head like earmuffs to dampen the outside noise of animals and cars beginning the day.

He had a day off, with nothing to do and no one to see, except for family and friends who all thought he was fine.

And he was fine, most of the time, except for hours like this, when women's ghosts walked across his room and through his mind, tiptoeing with a self-conscious smile, or proud and lithe in nudity.

The barking of dogs announced the sun's rise, like the cock did at the Burrow.

Ron automatically answered their yips with his own, thinking he might join them for a while. His registered Animagus was a floppy-eared hound dog, seen once or twice prowling around Hogwarts.

He groaned at the thought of that day when he'd spotted a large brown and black owl, crouched on a secluded area of the grounds, stroking a wing over a rainbow-streaked, coppery snake. He remembered his revulsion as the creatures had morphed into Hermione and Draco Malfoy. How was he an owl and not a ferret? He'd noted that Malfoy wasn't as considerate of her trying to study as he'd always been, then left them alone, his tail drooping. As he'd come out on an area of the grounds filled with students, a boy, probably fourth year, wearing a Ravenclaw tie, had kicked him in the ribs. Ron had given chase, barking and snapping and venting his renewed outrage on the careless bully.

Another day he'd gone to Wiltshire. Cissy had said, after all, that she assumed he'd keep an eye on her, and she'd been right. He had to ensure her safety, as well as Hermione's. He'd found her in her rose garden, surrounded by blooms and perfume. Malfoy Senior had joined her while Ron watched, and she'd smiled, tossing her sunny blond hair with what looked like happiness, until her husband had gripped her arms and kissed her neck. Ron saw her wince.

He'd snarled. Did the long-haired louse not know or care that her right arm was sensitive, a result of a curse placed by her big sister Bellatrix when they were little girls? He'd never done more than graze that spot or tenderly kiss it.

He imagined doing so now, with the sun beaming disdainful rays in his windows, urging him to stop trying to hide from the world and dwelling in his discontent on things he no longer had.

Stubbornly, he ignored it, as Hermione whimpered from lack of attention on his other side, and he turned to her, gathering both women into his arms momentarily, until his self-preservation instincts snapped him back to reality.

Ron jumped from the bed, as if there were a troll in it, and flew through his morning calisthenics, stretching, breathing hard and burning off some of the tension he'd created in his body. He summoned a mug of the coffee from downstairs when he smelled it brewing, the aroma of reason.

As he showered, dressed and shook himself out of his malaise, Ron knew he should find a dinner/after dinner date for tonight.

He wasn't going to have another morning like this, not if he could help it. He left his room and slammed his door with resentment and a final unpleasant thought: "Damn the Malfoy men."


	27. Forgiveness Comes

_While most wars in which wizards and witches have fought over the centuries eventually led to greater understanding and improved relations..._

Hermione read silently, but that hand felt so good, traversing between the north and south poles of her leg.

_...the wars with giants led to further isolation..._

He had such a nice touch, if he'd just stop trying to move south_eeast._

She grabbed the hand again and returned it to the north pole of her knee, earning a small grunt of protest from Draco, seated to her left.

..._from the tribes, who now inhabit..._

The hand slid up again.

Hermione looked up from her history book and saw that rather than reviewing his notes on a Felixis Felicis potion, Draco was watching her.

"This isn't working," she whispered to him, her eyes drawn, as usual, to the triangle of his full, tempting mouth and hypnotic eyes. They were darker grey than usual, seeming to take on the somber atmosphere of the library, where she was making a valiant effort to study, despite his distraction.

He put an arm over the back of her chair and turned toward her. "That's because you already know what you're reading," he whispered in return, more considerate of the pre-OWLS and NEWTS students surrounding them than of Hermione's personal space.

"There's nothing else for you to learn there," he said, sliding a finger down the length of her neck, desperate to use his lips there as well.

She tingled, taking in the points of the triangle once more. Perhaps he was right, about giant wars anyway, and she did have something on her mind.

They were in a far corner, away from Madam Pince's desk or the rows of bookshelves, and the study group who had been occupying the table closest to them had just called it a night. The golden flickering from the candles in the wall sconces seemed to soften the look of everything. It might have the same effect on the delicate subject matter.

She closed her book. "There's something I want to talk to you about."

"Talk," he said, no longer resisting his urge to kiss her neck, since the librarian was on the other side of the room shelving books, and those annoying fifth years were gone.

"Umm, could you sit over there?" she requested, pointing to a chair on the other side of the square table.

Draco raised his head with a look of curiosity, evidenced by his upraised chin and lowered eyelids. He moved to the other side. _What did she have to say? Was she ending it? _He was more anxious than he hoped he appeared.

Hermione sensed his unease and smiled. "Can I have a foot rub?" she asked, lifting her leg onto his lap. His half-smile showed his relief, as he slipped off her slip-on and began a slow rotation of her ankle.

She closed her eyes and sighed. He really did have a wonderful touch. _Where was I, _she thought, raising her other foot for the same treatment.

_Oh...right. _"I think we should introduce our parents to each other," she said in a rush.

Her masseur stopped. "What?" he asked sharply, recalling his father's hateful remarks to her, the event at the Manor and the one Hermione didn't know about...must never know about: his conversation with her father regarding his mother.

She dug a toe into his thigh, urging him to continue.

"Have you lost your mind, Granger?" His voice was a little louder with his surprise and worry.

"No, it's all still here," she said, flipping back her dark caramel hair. "If we truly want to be together, Draco, we have to do it at some point."

"Why?" he asked with his mouth turned down in petulance.

"It's normal," she said, lowering her legs and straightening the books in front of her.

"There's nothing normal about what's happened with you and my family," he snapped, leaning forward. She could see that the eyes were no longer drab grey, but alive and fiery, like new stars.

She turned her eyes down from them and sighed. "Do you remember what you said to me the first day at the ski lodge, about how we should declare détente?"

"I had much more in mind than just a cooling of hostilities," he reminded her, the words pelting out with his displeasure.

Now Hermione leaned forward and put a hand over one of his fists, pressed against the table. "But the principle's the same," she argued. "Forgiveness shouldn't only come to those who look so good in ski pants."

She stroked his Slytherin vanity the way she did Crookshanks' fur, with the same result. Draco purred and his fingers slackened from a fist to weave with hers. "We should go skiing again," he said, in a voice warmed with memory.

"We will," she promised. "We can make all kinds of plans, after this one little thing."

_Madam Pince had plans of her own tonight and she was in a hurry. She had a new gentleman friend who was supposed to contact her through the Floo network. She shelved her last book and, not noticing anyone at the tables around her desk, hurried out and locked the library door behind her. She even failed to extinguish all of the lights._

"Draco," Hermione prompted from their remote corner.

His fingers separated from hers and drummed on the table, as if mentally listing all of the reasons this was such a bad idea, including the ones he wouldn't tell her about their parents' flirtation.

"My father can be cruel, Hermione."

_As if I need a reminder of that, from him or Hagrid. _She shrugged. "My father sometimes belches."

He rolled his eyes at the silliness of the comparison. "He could try to hurt you, and then I'd have to kill him."

"But he can't hurt me, can he?"

Draco wrinkled his brow. "What do you mean?"

She looked down, then lifted her eyes slightly, knowing how that look affected him. "You take my pain, right? So he can't hurt _me, _as long as you're close to me."

He snickered. "How pragmatic of you."

"Not that I want you to be hurt," she clarified, "but if your biggest objection is your fear that he would hurt me, then...where is everyone?"

Draco turned his head.

"What time is it?" she asked.

He glanced at his watch. "A little after eleven," he answered slowly.

"What?" Hermione exclaimed, now looking around anxiously. "Where is everyone?" She jumped up and looked through the aisles of books and performed a Homenum Revelio charm, to no avail.

Draco followed at a much less panicked pace. "I guess we're locked in," he said, tugging on the oaken double doors at the front of the room.

"No!" Alohamora!" she cried, pointing her wand at the doors, to no avail.

He shook his head. "That won't work on these doors, love. Remember, McGonagall put extra protections on them after the couples were caught in here during the equinox celebrations. We're here until Madam Pince comes in the morning."

Was he smiling? This was a disaster. "But everyone will think we're here for the same reason," she said scrunching her hair between her fingers. It seemed to grow with her agitation.

"What reason is that?" he asked with a laugh in his voice, as he removed the robe over his clothes, then came closer with a familiar leer.

"Don't even think it!" she said sharply, moving away from him. "I told you before I'm not here for your entertainment. I'm a scholar first. I had a very good chance of being Valedictorian before this trick of yours."

Stunned and incensed, Draco gaped. "You think I 'tricked' you into being locked up and used my concern for you to do it?"

Hermione crossed her arms, her eyes sparking with indignation, like pyrite used to ignite a fire. "Maybe. You seem to do everything you can to reduce me to nothing more than your girlfriend."

Draco stared at her, as if replaying her statement in his head to ensure he'd heard it correctly. "Sorry," he said snidely, "I didn't know that my loving you caused such diminution to your value as a person. But maybe now you know how I feel."

Angry and tired as they were, they were still well-trained Hogwarts students in the library. They didn't raise their voices.

"Meaning...?" she asked, following him back to their table, where he picked up the book he'd been reading to return to the shelves.

"Meaning I'm sick of having to feel that you've given me such a great gift when you let me touch you, especially these last two weeks, and snogging for a few minutes after our D.O.D.A. lesson doesn't count!"

Hermione looked at him, standing between the long bookshelves, tall and light with his blond hair and skin, like a beacon in the dark surroundings—one that she couldn't reach. In fact, she'd never felt more distant from him.

"You said you understood," she protested, some of the fire in her eyes cooling with her hurt.

"I never said I liked it," Draco reminded her. "Do you know how many girls I've turned down for you, just in the two weeks that you've been NEWTS-obsessed? And what do I get from you—a little gratitude for patience, some small reminder that I mean something to you? No, just accusations and mistrust. Fine, Hermione. You want to snuggle up with books rather than me, do it."

He turned around and walked the length of the shelves and out of sight.

"At least I don't have to worry about the books not being satisfied with me," she yelled after him.

"At least..." she heard him answer from the bowels of the gloomy room.

Hermione stomped back to the corner table and sat down to resume her studying. Her eyelids became heavy and the open book looked almost like a pillow. Her head fell forward on it, the pages dotted with angry tears, as she imagined all of the Slytherin sluts who had offered themselves to him...

She felt a hand on her back and the slide of a familiar, seductive voice into her consciousness. "I'm sorry, Hermione," Draco said softly, leaning over her. His cool breath on the back of her neck let her know this wasn't a dream.

She sighed in relief and stood, throwing her arms around him. "I'm sorry too," she said, burying her face in his chest. "It was terrible of me to suggest that you'd do something that selfish."

He smoothed her hair, his long, slender hand stark in the glazed pecan-colored tresses. "I have the most brilliant, accomplished girl in this school," he said, still speaking soothingly, "and I'm excessively proud of that. I didn't and wouldn't do anything to endanger that for you. I swear it, Hermione."

She sniffled. "I know. And I don't want you to think my feelings for you are lukewarm or...easily managed." She looked up into his face, holding out her thumb and forefinger for him to see the small space between them. "I have possibly this much more control than you." She slipped her arms around his waist and rested her head against him. "I want you all the time," she concluded in a trembly treble.

"And I've wanted you for years. I've wanted to know you, be someone you could trust, someone you'd want to be with long after we leave here."

"Hmm." Draco felt the reverberation of her hum against the thin, tight fabric of his button-down shirt.

"In fact," he said, his face lighting up with an idea, "I'm going to prove to you how well you can trust me."

He waved his wand and a large hammock suddenly appeared, suspended between the largest shelf units in the center of the room.

"You looked so uncomfortable trying to rest with your head on the table," he said in answer to her quizzical look. "I want to show you that I can lie with you and behave myself. Come here," he coaxed her, flinging himself in the hanging bed and holding out his arms for her.

With a little smile, she joined him and they lay back on the pillows he'd conjured, with the scrolling D and H embroidered on them.

"Better?"

"Nice."

He squeezed her. "And they'll be our witnesses that all we do is sleep," he said, pointing to the portraits of former librarians on the wall behind Madame Pince's desk.

Some of them nodded and smiled and Draco felt the last of the tension leave the slim, soft body cuddled next to him.

"I've been thinking..." Hermione began, "about our conversation earlier."

"Thinking what?" Draco asked, using his wand to dim the lights in the room, until everything had an umber glow.

She hesitated. "Your father will never be as non-threatening as he is now."

He half-raised his closed eyelids. "Huh?"

She snuggled closer and glided the tip of her nose over the pulse in his neck. "He doesn't have a wand and the Ministry won't allow him one for at least another year. Don't you think I can win him over in that time?"

He grinned at her. "I think you could charm a yeti in much less time."

Her burnt sienna eyes smiled into his. "Then we'll have the meeting?"

He sighed in resignation. Was there ever any question of her winning him over? He'd just have to make sure that his father didn't try to cast an impotent Avada, and Peré Granger didn't ogle his mother. "How about a public place—lunch at the Leaky Cauldron after graduation?"

She moved her arm up to tickle the back of his neck. "Perfect. Now kiss me good night."

He lowered his head until their lips met and melded and they'd banished all strain between them.

"I love you, Granger."

"I love you, Malfoy."

"I'm still worried."

Hermione giggled. "So am I; Dad might belch."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Worse yet, my father could join him."

She smiled again. "Good night, Draco."

She went to sleep almost immediately. Draco held her, enjoying her soft skin and breathing. _This isn't so hard...easy, Ralph._

Hermione's silly name for him had become...localized, while his use of Jean for her had stopped upon his learning that he could be addressing her great-great-grandmother.

His eyes fell on four portraits that caught the faint light of one of the wall sconces.

Perhaps because of Hermione's earlier visitations by Jean and three other ancestor witches, he tended to see them in any quartet of older women.

The one on the left with the auburn hair...did she just wink at him? He winked back at the woman he imagined to be Finola.

Maybe he was more tired than he'd realized, but he thought he saw the persimmony woman next to her become even more disapproving looking—Hester, as he lived and breathed.

Jean could be imagined in the woman on the far right, with dark red lipstick over a squiggly mouth that reminded him of Hermione's.

And Clothilde, in the middle of the group, round and vibrant as Mother Earth herself. Her faded sandy and grey hair was twisted in a braid that rested on her mountainous chest, resembling exposed roots for a tree—a family tree, Draco thought whimsically.

He considered waking Hermione to point out his observations, then, thinking about her concerns for appearances, had another idea. He carefully unlocked himself from their embrace, then strolled to Madam Pince's desk, wearing his most ingratiating smile.

The next morning Hogwarts' current librarian was stunned to see waiting for her a scroll floating in mi-air with a note written on it:

_My Dear Madam Pince,  
I will thank you not to disturb my friend and me if we are still sleeping when you arrive.  
Your careless stewardship of the library resulted in our being locked in here overnight.__You_r _fellow librarians will attest to our model behavior during this trying experience,_ _but I believe you will find them less complimentary of you._

_And so, Madam,_ _we come to that age-old proposition—I won't tell if you don't.  
Just go about your business as if we're not here, and soon we won't be, and all but the portraits can forget this ever happened..._

_Signed,  
A confined and traumatized student_

Draco watched through half-closed lids as Madam Pince gasped, with her hand over her heart, then pulled down the note and tore it into tiny pieces. She began her morning routine on the far side of the room, with no more than a surreptitious glance at the hammock containing the Malfoy boy and Granger girl.

Draco shook Hermione awake and they scurried out of the room, taking the hammock with them.

Madam peeked around the bookcase as they exited, then reluctantly went back to her desk to face the stern gallery of former curators, for the lecture of the librarians she knew was coming.


	28. Reflections

**"My fellow graduates, we prepare to leave here, regardless of our blood status, with the only credential that really matters—our Hogwarts diplomas, attesting to our completion of the finest, most rigorous magical education in the world..."**

Draco beamed from his seat in the middle of the block of graduates. _She's perfect and she's mine. _He'd heard the speech several times in the last week and had worried about her obvious subtext refuting the prejudices still held by some in the audience. She'd been a little nervous about it herself but now, she was fearless.

**"...We must support each other as we make our way in the Wizarding World, putting aside silly House politics. After all, a Slytherin alumnus will never know when he might need the help of a Hufflepuff,"** she said, smirking at him.

He smiled in response, then tore his eyes from her to gauge the reaction to that statement. There were a few timid titters, but for the most part, the audience members had the same vermillion faces as his father.

Draco decided to blame part of it on the sun shining on the assemblage, grouped on the banks of the Black Lake, that glimmered like a polished mirror. The graduates wore their mortarboards and robes with the colors of their Houses, so the blue, red, green and yellow were like polka-dots on the white field of their chairs.

Hermione was on the stage in front of them, with the faculty, Minister Shacklebolt and other luminaries. On either side of the graduates' block was seating for their families, then the rest of the audience, all situated over a carpet of jade green grass that Hagrid had dedicated himself to making perfect, upon learning who the Valedictorian and commencement speaker would be.

**"Our time here has occasionally been 'rife with strife...'"** she said, as if sharing an inside joke with her listeners.

Draco had argued against that too cute line, but she'd insisted on it to acknowledge their unique experiences and the influence of the Dark Lord during their tenure, but not dwell on it.

He saw Professor McGonagall at the front of the dais, nodding in approval at her protegé. Hagrid, sitting with his brother Grawp, who had come to hear Hermy, might have been a very hairy version of the Headmistress, as he also nodded. Hermione's parents were, of course, incandescent with pride.

Draco had watched them to see if Thomas inappropriately looked at his mother. He'd only noticed a glance or two, which he could forgive, but, for some reason, his usually perfectly composed mother seemed a bit flustered and had looked a few times at the large block of redheads here for Ginny Weasley's matriculation.

He supposed it was because of Aunt Bella, even though he and his mother had decided months ago that her death, at the hands of the Weasley matriarch, had been a release from the prison of her deranged mind.

Among the varying shades of red was the black spot for the dark hair of Potter, sitting next to the worst of the lot. Draco surged with jealousy from his stomach to his head, as Hermione turned to those two, "**...but we learned about combining our talents to achieve mutual goals..."**

_She's perfect and she was mine, _Ron thought to himself, watching Hermione. _Why couldn't we stop fighting, why did I destroy her confidence in me by leaving her?_

**"We also learned that we might find our greatest ally in a most unexpected place,"** Hermione continued, turning her head back to the front. Ron followed her gaze to the center of the graduates, where Malfoy was alphabetically seated. Ron saw the look between them. It sickened him, but he couldn't deny it was love.

He sighed. Maybe Cissy had been right. He and Hermione couldn't have really made each other happy, because he didn't stimulate her mentally and, as he'd learned in the last couple of months, there was more to enjoy physically than he ever had with the pretty girl on stage.

His eyes shifted to where he'd seen Lucius Malfoy sit with his wife. She happened to glance at him at the same time, then quickly turned away, to give the speaker her rapt attention.

_Hmm, so she still thinks about me, _Ron noted with a lift of his brow. He caught her eye one more time and winked. She fanned herself frantically.

Ron smiled. He'd come to recognize that the relationship with the wife of a Death Eater and mother of his former girlfriend's boyfriend, not to mention sister of the woman killed by his mother (He rolled his eyes at the confluence of associations) wasn't viable, but it had still been so personally good.

**"And now we take our knowledge and experiences into the world,"** Hermione continued, **"ready to discover how we might best benefit and improve that world to find our own fulfillment."**

_Fulfillment..._Ron saw another look between Hermione and Malfoy. Had they found that with each other? He bloody well hadn't! Though, like Hermione said, his experiences had given him a better idea of what he needed, so they hadn't been a total waste of time. After all, he'd learned to satisfy a woman like Cissy, something it didn't appear that her pinched-faced husband had done for a while. He smiled at that.

_The red-haired rodent, _Lucius snarled to himself, _sitting there with his mass-produced family, all so proud to inflict another of their kind onto the community._

**"And in reaching this milestone, please know, our family and friends, how much we appreciate all you've done for us..."**

_Do I detect scowls among the Weasleys? _Lucius wondered. _Are they perhaps resentful of the girl's choosing Draco over their pedestrian boy, leaving him free to pursueanotherman'swife, _his thoughts continued viciously.

Narcissa gasped at the sudden vise-like grip of his hand on hers and looked up at him in confusion, the gossamer softness of her eyes causing him to relent.

He didn't blame her, after all. Even his hypocrisy could only go so high. How could he insist on fidelity after the things he'd permitted others to do to her? _And I've not been at my most appealing the last few months, _he admitted, _but a Weasley? _He shook his head in revulsion.

No one knew of the jealousy he harbored against Arthur Weasley, in his petty civil service occupation in his sad little Burrow, for fathering such a brood, when he had only one son—a good son, but still...

**"And in addition to our knowledgeable and caring professors, we must also pay homage to our school's governors—past and present. Please stand so that we may recognize you,"** Hermione said.

_Well, at least she has some sense of propriety, _Lucius though as he stood, briefly reclaiming his natural position as an object of admiration and applause.

Draco watched his father with a smirk under his dark green cap. _She's brilliant; she was right!_ That line was Hermione's first salvo in her campaign to conquer the other Malfoy. It had worked just as effectively as her voice amplification charm, which allowed her to be heard by everyone, without having to hold her wand to her vocal chords—something she had sworn would not happen.

**"We can only hope to be as wise as you have proven yourselves to be, in providing for us such a beautiful and stimulating environment for our education..."**

_And she is a comely thing, _Lucius noted_, and rather intelligent, perhaps even worthy of a match, if not for...them._

His sight glided disdainfully to the seating for Gryffindor family, where the girl's parents looked silly with pride.

**"And now, we stand before you, the fruit that has ripened with your careful, combined tending..."**

_She's amazing, _Thomas gloated in his head. _Any sacrifice I've ever made...she's worth it. _Meredith squeezed his arm even tighter, and he patted her hand, touching the moonstone ring. His eyes sidled to the prominent blond couple in the Slytherin section _...any sacrifice._

**"We admire you and respect you and now take our place among you,"** Hermione said, nearing her conclusion.

_Luna's looking fetching,_ Ron observed. _Maybe I should see if she has plans for the evening, not that there's a possibility of sex with her, but she's always good for a laugh._

**"We will rely on your experience, but also challenge you..."**

_Of course, you will, honey, _Thomas thought with a loving shake of his head, _just as you've challenged me every day of your life and made me want to be my best for you._

**_"_...and in the end, we will learn from each other._"_**

_I suppose I can tolerate this...association for now. Perhaps Draco can bring her down a peg or two, _Lucius reasoned.

**"So, watch out world—Wizard's and Muggle's alike—"** Hermione finished with a gleam in her eye, **"here we come!"**

_I'll love her forever, _Draco vowed, leaping to his feet to lead the applause.

Hermione smiled and humbly dipped her head to her audience. _Whew, that's over, _she sighed in relief. _Now, time for lunch._


	29. Family Circle

Thomas, Meredith and Hermione Granger were the first to arrive at the Leaky Cauldron after the graduation ceremony, for the day's other momentous occasion.

Hermione looked around anxiously at the unusually full inn, with a large number of her fellow graduates there with their families.

All of her confidence from earlier in the week and during her commencement address abandoned her, as she realized what a large audience there would be for the potentially disastrous meeting of her trio with Draco and his parents.

But that could be partly because she'd only had a moment with him, before they were pulled apart by well-wishers and glad handlers and people eager to show them off, though not together.

"I'll be there soon," Draco had promised, as his Slytherin classmates had led him away to the family seating for their House, and Professor McGonagall had beckoned for her.

She thought of him longingly, eyeing the public room as if seeing it for the first time. That huge fireplace on the wall behind them could really use a good scrubbing, and the long tables and benches that filled the space seemed to have the sooty, smoky look that Scourgify could only minimize, not eliminate.

Hermione tapped her foot nervously on the rough wood plank floor as her eyes scanned the upper level until she spotted the large, round table in front of a sunny window, excluded from the other diners—perfect.

She hurried to the staircase before someone else could claim it, with her parents following her. Just as she was about to mount the first step, she saw coming up from the cellar—dusty, amber-colored bottles in hand—Arthur and Molly Weasley.

"Arthur," boomed her father, shaking hands with his only friend in the wizarding world, "it's good to see you again."

The red-haired head of the largest magical family in England smiled pleasantly. "Hello, Thomas, Meredith...Hermione. That was quite a speech you gave. You must be very proud," he concluded the greeting with his eyes on Hermione's mother.

She beamed. "Of course, but no more than the two of you, with Ginny being Captain of the team that won this year's Quidditch Cup."

"Yes, thank you," said Molly, placing her plump, freckled hand on Meredith's. "And we're very pleased with how well Ron has done outside of school with his Auror training, and Harry too, of course."

Thomas nodded with a grin. "I've missed hearing about the exploits of those two. But, what can we do..." he stated with a shrug.

Molly glanced at the seemingly-unattached Hermione and her eyes sparked with intrigue, as she imagined a romantic reunion with her youngest son. "Well, we just came to get some wine for our celebration at the Burrow. We'd love to have you—"

"Sorry we're late," Draco said suddenly, appearing at Hermione's side and kissing her cheek. "Father was waylaid by a Ministry official."

"Weasley," Lucius oozed out the name as he oozed out a smarmy grin. "Fancy seeing you here. Surely the Leaky Cauldron isn't large enough to accommodate your army, or perhaps you and your wife are seeking refuge from them."

Arthur's eyes came together in a frown, as he put his arm around Molly to guide her away from the new arrivals. "Actually, we were just returning to the army. Goodbye, Thomas, Meredith."

"Goodbye, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley," said Hermione in a small, shaky voice. "It was so nice to see you again."

Molly suddenly wrapped her arms over the girl's shoulders, as if she could save a favorite lamb from slaughter.

"You take care of yourself," Arthur said, standing next to his wife and penetrating Ron's blue eyes into Hermione's brain. He subtly tilted his head to her parents, as if to add, "...and them."

Hermione answered with a small nod and stood quietly as the adults dispersed—Arthur and Molly exiting, and her parents following Malfoy's lead up the stairs.

She felt warm, beloved arms sneak around her. "Is this still all the circle you need?" Draco asked in the melt-inducing half whisper.

She sighed and momentarily indulged herself by leaning against him. _Even after all these months, it's still such a heady feeling, _she said to herself the phrase that always came to mind when she was in his embrace.

"My beauty," he said, nuzzling the side of her head. "I got so excited watching you on stage, it's a good thing I'm wearing my robe."

She laughed self-consciously, pressing against him. "It's not completely masking your excitement."

"That's our secret. Now move," he whispered, coaxing her up the narrow, creaking stairs. "Is this a good time to remind you that I love you?"

"Yes," she answered in a much more confident tone.

"Aannd..." he prompted with mock impatience.

She giggled as they approached the table. "I love you, you handsome devil." They grinned and took the remaining chairs, sitting across from each other, with Hermione's parents on her right side and Draco's parents to his right.

"Now, for formal introductions," he said, assuming the role of host. "Doctors Thomas and Meredith Granger, these are my parents, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Mother and Father, the lovely young woman to your right is Hermione Jean Granger, Hogwarts' first Muggle-born valedictorian," he concluded proudly.

The parents nodded to each other and Hermione turned to her left. "Thank you for agreeing to lunch. Draco and I thought it important that we all try to establish some common ground, if we want to further our relationship."

"And just how much further do you intend to carry it?" Lucius asked, leaning back imperiously.

Draco gave him a tense look and said through clenched teeth, "I've told you how much she means to me," while Thomas laid his hand on Hermione's.

"Common ground, eh? Well, be prepared, honey, because some of that ground is going to be a little shaky."

"Dad, please," Hermione said softly.

Narcissa twisted her hands in her lap, dreading what he might say, but unable to stop him without drawing attention to herself.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but it has to be done," he said, turning to Lucius. "So, Malfoy, do you and your friends enjoy terrorizing young people?"

"Thomas!" interjected Meredith, while Narcissa caught her breath, then dropped her eyes when Thomas's gaze shifted to her.

Malfoy sat quietly, studying the other man, before speaking. "Are you referring to a particular incident, or are you asking if I generally like terrorizing children?"

Draco gave him a withering, half-lidded look. "Really, Father." He addressed himself to the couple on his left. "You can't understand without knowing what it was like living under You Know Who's thumb. Even while he was gone, he had...associates...who ensured that his former followers still adhered to his plans, which meant doing everything possible to bring him back to power."

"...Six graduate plates," he said to the server that appeared before them and disappeared just as quickly.

The Malfoys shifted uncomfortably as Draco continued his explanation to the Grangers, now concentrating on their daughter seated across from him. "You've probably wondered why we Slytherins weren't more sympathetic to Potter's plight, having a death sentence over him since he was a baby. It's because we've lived under the same threat; it's how our families were kept in line."

Hermione's eyes seemed to match the walnut table in color, shape and size, as she gaped at Draco.

Cissy closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. The pain she'd endured for nearly twenty years, the constant worry for her adored son, was finally being aired. Thomas dared another glance at the gorgeous, tragic face.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Hermione asked in a strained, breathy voice.

Draco shrugged. "For the same reason I never used magic on you. I wanted your feelings for me to be real, not influenced by compassion or any force other than our interest in each other." A sad smile twitched on his lips. "And even though I've wished for you for years, I suppose it's lucky I didn't find you sooner. I wouldn't have wanted you to be...ammunition...that they could use against me."

"Oh...Draco," she intoned, with new insight into her boyfriend.

Meredith witnessed the current of passion passing between her daughter and the young man sitting next to her, much more strong now than the first time she eyed them across a table in a restaurant. She shook her head, as if coming back to her senses. "If that's the case, why doesn't everyone know?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Cissy responded in a chilly tone. "Minister Shacklebolt didn't want to create an all-purpose defense for Death Eaters and their children. It's a very limited amnesty that depends on the truth remaining secret."

Draco's white, toothy smile now gave extra light to the room. "In the last few months I've come to realize how...restricted I've always been, conscious of saying and doing the prescribed things. For the first time in my life, I can be myself. A large part of that is you," he said, reaching his hand across the table for Hermione's, "but there's also the simple relief from fear."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Draco," Lucius interrupted, brushing his hand over his shoulder, as if the sunbeam that rested there could be swept away. "Yes, we've had our anxieties, but we mustn't magnify them. We are Malfoys. Success during times of adversity is our hallmark."

Thomas harrumphed. "I can see why you would want to minimize the impact, Malfoy. After all, it's your actions that put your family in such a situation."

"Not necessarily, Thom—Dr. Granger," Cissy stated. She held Lucius's hand as she elaborated. "My husband's leanings might have made him susceptible to...Voldemort's influence, but it's very possible that if not, the Dark Lord would have used Lucius's concern for Draco and me to coerce his cooperation, because we had something that he needed—our wealth and standing among Purebloods."

Meredith looked at the beautiful, rich woman and suddenly felt very lucky to be neither. "I can see where it's been very hard for you."

Cissy responded with a tight nod. "It's part of the reason I had no other children. Having Draco under such a curse was terrible, but the thought of bringing another son or daughter into the world under such circumstances..."

She lowered her head with a sniffle and Lucius placed a consoling hand on her back. Thomas and Meredith clasped each others' hands. Their only children stared at each other, sharing understanding of isolation and exclusivity and being accustomed to having what they wanted, including each other.

"Ah," said Lucius as the food arrived, "let's eat, shall we?"

Over the clink of silver on china, Lucius spoke to Thomas, a smirk appearing on his face. "By the way, Granger, I've been doing some research into your field, particularly...what was that word...orthodontics? And so, if you might answer for me, what are _your_ views on torturing children?"

Hermione snickered behind her napkin. Dinner conversation with this group would never be boring. She caught a silvery twinkle in Draco's eyes as he grinned at her.

Seeing the dear Weasleys before, she thought of their overly-full dinner table, where the talk was loud and raucous, though seldom challenging. This, she realized, was a much better fit for her.

From his end, Draco surveyed the group, imagined all of the uncomfortable topics that might have arisen, enjoyed the sound of Hermione's laugh at some exchange between their fathers, and sighed in relief.


	30. Rewards and Compensations

"That was quite a lunch."

"Uh huh."

"Realistically, how long can we do this?" Hermione asked Draco, as they moved in tandem—a beautifully, achingly slow motion.

He grinned at her, sitting on his lap and facing him, their bodies seemingly bonded together by the afternoon sun that gleamed the ruffle-trimmed window and lit the parlor of the cottage.

"I don't have to be realistic," he said with an especially vigorous upward thrust that caused her to bite her lip. "I'm a wizard."

She stopped and looked into his mischievous grey eyes, shining like chrome in his present delight. "You didn't."

"I did," he proudly confirmed, kissing the bitten bottom lip.

Hermione responded with her own playful smile. "Well then, this is as good a time as any to stop," she said in a teasing sing-song, preparing to dismount.

"You stay right where you are, Granger," Draco demanded, grabbing her hips and pushing her back in position. "This is my reward."

"Reward for what?"

He shrugged and reestablished their rhythm. "Maybe not so much reward as compensation..."

Before Hermione could argue, he expounded on his theme. "...for you leaving me three times, for wanting you for years and having to watch you with Krum, McLaggen, Weasley." He gave an extra jolt on each name and Hermione moaned in reaction.

"You always had someone on your arm."

"Not the same," he stated emphatically, looking at her flushed face and grinning. "Besides, you don't seem to mind this at all."

She answered with a low chuckle. "True. I believe this is the most fun I've ever had trespassing."

Draco's grin widened. "We're not trespassing, love; we own this place."

"What?"

He nodded and impaled her at the same time. "I bought it at the beginning of the term and I have the scroll here to make it half yours, with your signature and a knut." He lowered her surprised face for a kiss. "I told you I'd always have secrets and would reveal them when it was time. It's your graduation present, along with this."

He held out his had to Accio from the other side of the room a small velvet gift box. "Remember?" he asked, showing her the Slytherin/Gryffindor bracelet he'd originally given her at Christmas. "I've always fantasized about your wearing nothing but this," he said, clasping it on her naked arm.

She smiled and he made a mental note to add a gem to it to match her big, brown eyes. _Dark citrine would be perfect, or maybe amber._

"Why is it that everyone doesn't see what a lovely, considerate man you are?" Hermione asked, resuming their briefly interrupted action.

"Because I only am with you. The rest of the world will always see me as cold and calculating and I like that; it gives me strategic advantage. Can you live with that, everyone thinking you're with a cad?"

She studied him quietly, as he pushed some of her chestnut brown hair, fuzzing in their activity, away from her face. "Will you hurt anyone?"

"No."

"Will you do anything criminal?"

"No," he assured her. "I like seeing how much I can achieve within the law. It's more challenging. And I'd never embarrass you."

She shrugged in acquiescence. "Then, yes, I suppose I can live with it. I love you."

Draco nuzzled her neck. "Say it again."

"I love you."

"In French," he requested.

"Je t'aime. In German," she countered.

"Ich liebe dich. In Latin."

"Te amo. In...Bulgarian.

He pinched her hip. "Obicham te. In..."

_Multi-lingual declarations of love while being shagged within an inch of my life, _she thought to herself, as Draco finally shifted to lay her on the long sofa and pump more insistently.

She stroked his face. _Stubbly cheeks, electric eyes and a sexy smirk—he's absolutely perfect. Thank the heavens he found me and persuaded me to give us a chance._

_"_Ah, Hermione_," _he breathed in her ear, and she sighed in bliss, with a touch of misgiving.

_Realistically, I don't know how long this can last. _She clutched him tightly. _But it's so much more than I would have ever imagined._

* * *

"I might have to have your girlfriend to come and challenge me. I believe you're getting worse," Lucius said, tossing his robe on the bench in the Ministry locker room and preparing to strip for what had become his routine—Quidditch with Harry, stretch out the rookie Auror's torture with his shower and primping, then a meeting with the Minister.

"Whatever," Harry answered with a shrug. According to the plan, he hadn't even broken a sweat on the pitch. He patted his body, then made a show of looking around the damp, slightly musky room, the walls covered by cubicles and long rectangles, from which hung wizards' robes, towels and some brooms. With his innate sense of the dramatic, he gasped. "I left my wand out there; I'll be back in a moment."

Lucius tsked at his detail's carelessness, and was about to remove his trousers, when another rookie Auror entered. "What are you doing here?" he asked with undisguised contempt.

Ron stood a few feet from him, his arms crossed over his Ministry robe, which he hoped lent him some authority in facing the half-naked man. He'd prepared himself for this confrontation for days—mentally trivializing the man who used to scare him half to death, convincing Harry to facilitate it, and controlling his own volatile, red-haired temper.

"I thought we should talk," he said simply, anchoring himself to the wet floor, with his feet wide apart—an instinctive pose for a combatant. "You and your son arranged for lunch with Hermione and her parents after graduation, a public display with the 'new, appealing champion for equality,'" he said with audible air quotes, repeating the phrase that the Daily Prophet had used in describing Hermione after her speech. "You thought it gave your whole reformed Death Eater farce a ring of authenticity, especially with your adoring wife at your side." Ron's fists involuntarily clenched against his ribs.

Lucius's closed-mouthed, barely-arcing grin begged to be punched. "Yes," he hissed. "A living testament to that old axiom, 'Love conquers all,' particularly Draco and the girl. They are quite taken with each other, aren't they?"

Revulsion rose from Ron's stomach, along with his ire. His ears, he knew, would be approaching a rosy color now. He wanted to conclude this before they reached scarlet. "I'm watching," he said, pushing his lowest, most menacing voice from the bottom of his throat. "If they want to be used by you, fine. I can't do anything about that. But if I see a hint of you forcing them...I've got a big family and a dead brother that we all want to avenge, connections in key places. All I have to say is it's open season on Malfoy; they don't even have to know why. We can make you wish for death."

Lucius dropped his chin to hide the worried expression that had replaced the infuriating grin. He raised his eyes with an arched brow. "And what is to prevent me from going directly to the Minister about this little tete à tete?"

Now Ron grinned. "You're still meeting with what's left of Death Eaters. It might be just to talk about old times, but it's still prohibited under your probation. You say anything to the Minister, and I'll report that and you're back in Azkaban."

Lucius fell to the bench behind him and looked up into the freckled face of the formerly insignificant child, who now had him trapped. "Does anyone else know?" he asked in a quiet, demoralized voice.

Ron shook his red head, almost enjoying himself. "Not even Harry. It's our secret, as long as you're only re-living your pathetic glory days and you _never_ have Cissy anywhere near them."

Hearing his wife's name coming out of that despised mouth...Lucius raised his head. "You think you can control me? You sniveling son of a pauper. My son and I hold everything you could have ever hoped for. They're ours to do with as we wish."

Ron advanced on him, speaking in a voice choked with suppressed passion. "Unlike you, I won't enslave a woman with magic or threats, and lucky for your spawn, he hasn't either. But if you or he ever hurt either of them, I will take back everything that you and that skinny, white-haired ferret have taken from me. Depend upon it," he said, towering over the older man. He turned on his heel and left.

Lucius stared at the floor and exhaled deeply, feeling the air leave his middle-aged, sinking chest.

He donned his shirt and robe as Harry returned. "I'm feeling a bit tired," he said in a deflated tone. "I think I'll just go home. You'll make my apologies to the Minister?"

"Of course," Harry answered, impressed with how well Ron seemed to have done his job. "I'll escort you to the exit."

With drooping shoulders, Malfoy carried his bundle of sweaty clothing and allowed himself to be led through the Ministry, where he'd previously felt such power, the stench of his unfreshened body trailing him, like a skunk who has just released his stink and is now defenseless.

Ron watched from a far corner of the atrium, the consummate Keeper, ever on guard.

* * *

"So that's little Scorpius," Ron said, louder than he'd intended. Hermione, stooped down to clean her young son's face, looked up when she heard the name.

"Make sure you beat him in every test, Rosie. Thank God you inherited your mother's brains."

"Ron, for heaven's sake," his wife said, "don't try to turn them against each other before they've even started school."

"You're right, sorry," Ron said, lovingly touching her cheek.

Hermione rose and looked across the short distance at the other family, remembering her past with the father. She whispered something to her husband and he nodded in agreement. They walked hand in hand with their older child to where her former lover and his spouse stood with theirs.

Ron and Draco stood face to face for the first time in almost nineteen years, their past mirrored in the eyes that gauged each other carefully.

"Weasl...Ron," Draco began, "Hermione and I are having a party this evening at the site of the old Shrieking Shack. We'd like to invite you and your lovely wife to join us."

"Please come, Astoria," Hermione said, addressing Ron's wife. "Now that our children are going to be in school together, it would be nice for us to be able to put aside our differences. Harry and Ginny will be there."

Ron turned his head toward his sister and best friend, busy with their children, then looked at his first love. She was still beautiful, though obviously older than the woman at his side, who had forgiven him that Valentine's Day humiliation and helped him banish his ghosts—most of them anyway.

_The things your mother and I did for each other, _he thought to himself with an inward smirk and a fleeting glance at Draco, before looking beyond him to where Narcissa stood, holding the hand of her younger grandson.

Ron gave her a small wink and she smiled in recognition, still quite lovely, even as she approached sixty. Widowed for eight years, she was currently being pursued by the debonair new Minister of Magic, Ron knew. He silently wished her happiness.

"Yes, let's, Ron," Astoria cajoled, tugging his sleeve.

He smiled and kissed her temple. "Whatever you want."

"Daddy," said Rose, coming back to say goodbye to her favorite person. He knelt to hug her and give her final instructions and teasing.

_Oh, look at the pretty little redhead, _exclaimed Finola to her sister witches.

They eyed approvingly the girl with her father's blue eyes and ginger tone, enriched to a deep copper shade, with Astoria's contribution of dark hair and alabaster skin.

_Ronald's girl—what would you expect? _observed Clothilde. _Glad he's done so well for himself._

Pleasantries exchanged, the parents separated to conclude their goodbyes to the children, anxious about their first trip on the rusty, wheezing Hogwarts Express.

_Scorpius doesn't seem to be able to take his eyes off of her,_ Jean noted, thinking she would have loved to have seen Tommy G with his first crush, as the blond boy turned his head to watch the vivacious Rose enter the train.

_Oh, he'll never do anything on his own, _Clothilde said with a grunt. _He's as careful as his mother._

_Let's go with him, _suggested Finola excitedly_. Hermione doesn't need us anymore._

_Good idea, _Hester seconded_. We can make sure he behaves himself, unlike his father at times._

Scorpius suddenly ran for the same car that he'd watched Rose enter and Draco snickered, "A true Malfoy man. Father would be so proud, even if she is a Weasley."

Hermione gave him a playful jab in the stomach, then accepted his hand to walk back to Narcissa and Hugo.

"Have you ever regretted choosing me?" asked Draco in a surprisingly pensive, unconfident voice, having noted that Ron had more hair than he did now and seemed to be almost as successful, carefully managing Astoria's inheritance and acting as a partner in his brother George's enterprises.

Hermione stopped to look at her husband, her eyes wide in disbelief. "Are you serious?" She took his hand and placed it on the side of her head so that he, as a Legilimens, could share with her their memories_—_some sweet, some sexy, some heart-breaking, all centering around her and Draco, loving and supporting each other, in a life that offered so much...

"How much time do we have at the cottage before the party?" he asked, fixing his eyes on her with a familiar gleam.

"Enough," she answered with a smile, "even if we fly."

They kissed Hugo, who was excited to spend the night with both Nannie Cissy and Mere, then hurried to a secluded corner for their transformation.

The large eagle owl flew over the train, heading to the castle in the distance, with the bronze snake draped around his neck. Loving the experience and her life, Hermione knew that she couldn't have asked for more.

* * *

_**a/n I hope everyone likes the finished product. Thanks to all the readers  
and reviewers, especially Laaiqa, fellow RT players, and Dramione devotees.**_


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